Clickers vs Zombies (33 page)

And then he was at the end of Cameo del Mar, driving past puddles of congealed goo. A zombie Clicker that had been smashed by something was trying to move—it’s entire bottom half was crushed, one of its claws had been severed, and it could only move by pinioning itself on its remaining claw. It eyed the SUV as Rick pulled up to the rundown gate and threw the vehicle in park. Rick watched it as it tried to move itself forward. It couldn’t move at all. It was stuck to the pavement. Rick thought briefly of putting a bullet through its brain, but decided against it. He didn’t want anything to be attracted to the gunshots. Plus, he didn’t know what he was going to be facing beyond that gate. He needed all the ammunition he could get right now.

On the heels of that, he had another thought as he glanced at Princess.
It’s not just people coming back to life…it’s every living thing
. Realizing that Princess was at risk, that if she was killed and could come back and turn on him as one of the undead, raised the risk exponentially.

Rick eyed the rundown street, noting other piles of goop and a resurrected head lying in the middle of the street. Richard had said they were hiding in the third apartment building. He could make out the structure perfectly—it was about fifty yards from where he was sitting in the SUV. He gave the fence a quick visual inspection, then turned to Princess. “So what do you think? Wanna come with me?”

Princess wagged her tail and gave an encouraging whine.

“We’re going in there to get Richard and Melody and their friends. I need you to have my back. If you sense any trouble, you let me know. Okay?”

Princess gave a low bark.

Jesus, this is weird
, Rick thought.
It almost feels like she understands me
.

Princess didn’t take her eyes off Rick. Her ears were alert, tail raised. She was sitting in a strong, dominant position, as if she were ready to kick some ass and take names. He’d heard about people having a strong connection with their pets, and while Princess had always been a good dog and a great family pet, the connection he felt with her today seemed different. They were connecting on a different level. It was instinctual. That was the only word Rick had for it. They each knew that they needed each other to survive. They were going through that fence to find and rescue Richard and Melody and, if possible, their friends. If there was any trouble, Princess would defend them from any threat, and he would defend her as well. They were going to work together to get out of this.

Rick ruffled Princess’s fur behind her neck. “Let’s go. Stay with me, okay?”

Grabbing the rifle, Rick let himself out of the vehicle and Princess bounded out after him. He debated leaving the vehicle running, but then decided against it. What if somebody else was hiding out nearby, saw the running vehicle, and decided to steal it? Rick couldn’t take that chance, so he turned the SUV off and took the keys. He put them in his jeans pocket, pulled out the backpack that contained the extra clips and shells, then closed the door. Princess was already at the gate, looking down the street toward the zombie head glaring at them with mad eyes. Rick approached the gate beside her and looked down into the heart of Sunken City.

It didn’t look like anything he remembered from his youth. Every time he’d come down here he’d been drunk or stoned with his goofball friends. It was always night when they’d come down here, too. From what he remembered, the area had no streetlights. Rick glanced along the side of the streets and, sure enough, no streetlights. As Rick visually inspected the immediate area, he was struck by how narrow the street actually was. He spied a small concrete path that led down to the rocky beach below. He wondered if that was the same path he and his friends used to take to get down to the beach on those nights they came down here. It probably was.

With the exception of the severed head that was looking at him with a kind of insane rage, there were no other zombies in the immediate area. He looked up at the building the kids said they were hiding in and thought of calling out to them. He decided against it. His best course of action was to get through the fence, approach the building, then maybe look up and see if anybody was watching the street from one of the upper floors. From this vantage point, he didn’t think anybody watching from the second or third floor could see him.

“Come on, Princess,” Rick said. He pushed at the gate and it was stopped by the padlocked chain that had been wound through it. Thank God the chain had been wrapped loosely around the bars. He squeezed through the gate, gritting his teeth as his belly brushed against the steel.
If I live through this, I’m going on a weight loss program
, he thought as he slid his bulk through the gate. He managed to get through with a little difficulty, then Princess came through effortlessly after him.

They stood at the other side of the gate for a moment, listening, observing. The coast was clear.

Rick and Princess began to move down the street toward the apartment building.

PART THREE

ELEVEN

Pasadena, California

Greg Weaver had been holed up in his suburban tract home nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains since late yesterday afternoon. The house didn’t have a basement, so Greg had chosen the next best place to hide—the back bedroom that had been converted to Elizabeth’s office.

The kids had gone to visit his parents a few days ago down in Orange County. He currently had no way to get in touch with them. Phone service had been down since last night, and most of the major networks had gone off the air in the early hours of this morning. The moment shit started going down, Greg had retreated to Elizabeth’s office and had monitored events on the Internet until it, too, went offline.

Elizabeth had been at work in Burbank, where she was employed as a staff writer for the television show
Criminal Minds
. Greg was between jobs this summer, so he’d elected to stay home and hang out with the kids. Elizabeth’s busiest time as a writer for television was between the months of June through March, when prime-time network series shows were in production. This was Elizabeth’s second season as a staff writer for the show, and with six of the last two season’s episodes written by her, she had accumulated enough points in the Writer’s Guild to continue her health benefits until work resumed in June. In a way, it was like her old job when she was a high school teacher and had nearly three months off every summer, only this time she was usually off between April and June.

That worked well for Greg. He could stay home this summer, hang out with the kids, and read scripts his agent sent him.

Greg hadn’t had a job in nine months. Not even a walk-on for a prime-time dramatic series episode. His last real gig of any importance was nine months ago when he’d taken a bit role in a feature, the sequel to a horror film called
The Fury
, which was completely unrelated to the 1978 film of the same name.
The Fury
was the title of a horror novel, published in 2006, by a novelist/screenwriter named David Spires, who Elizabeth knew. David had written the screenplay. The 2008 film adaptation had done reasonably well, so the producers had arranged for a sequel, which Greg had worked on in 2001. He’d played the Catholic priest who the hero and heroine consulted with at the top of the third act.

After that gig, there hadn’t been a whole hell of a lot.

Residuals still came in for past projects, and he still had his SAG benefits. And thank God Elizabeth was gainfully employed. Greg had kept busy during the kid’s school year by running an actor’s workshop in Glendale. When school let out, and no serious casting calls came his way, he decided to take the summer off from the workshop circuit. Hounding his agent over the phone didn’t require much effort anyway. He could do that in his sleep, from anywhere.

When society started breaking down and the zombies and crab-creatures had begun wreaking havoc, Greg had tried calling his parents down in Newport Beach and Elizabeth in Burbank, but had been unable to get through to either of them. Stunned with the realization that they could be in incredible danger, even dead, he had slumped in Elizabeth’s office chair in shock, glued to the internet until it, too, went offline.

And now he was hearing a noise outside.

Greg rose from the desk, his knees popping. He winced at the flare of pain caused by the stiffness of his joints, then cocked his head listening. There was the slam of a car door in the driveway. Was that Elizabeth?

Greg raced through the house to the front door. From the living room window, which had not been shuttered with the curtains, Greg could see part of his driveway. Sure enough, he could see the rear portion of Elizabeth’s Nissan Altima.

“Elizabeth!” Greg leaped for the door, fumbled for the lock, got it open.

Elizabeth stood on the front stoop, grinning at Greg. Her hair was mussed up, tangled with sweat and blood. The blue jeans she’d worn to work the day before were gone, stripped off her body. Only the top portion, where the belt loops rested and strips of denim that flopped along her bruised and torn legs remained. There was a gaping hole in her neck, and Greg could see the bones of her spine through the flesh. Greg took a step back, gaping in horror.

“
Hi honey, I’m home!
” The Elizabeth thing screeched. She reached forward, grabbed him, and pulled him to her. Greg screamed.

Moments later, Greg was gone and a Siqquism occupied his brain. It searched through his memories, learned where his children were, as well as some of his friends and colleagues. Some lived close by.

“
Why don’t we see how are friends are doing?
” it cackled to Elizabeth.

“
Honey
,” the Elizabeth thing said, grinning. “
You are so full of great ideas
.”

San Pedro, California

“Hey, I think I see Dad!”

Melody’s voice brought a burst of relief from Richard as he raced from the north-facing bedroom to where Melody was stationed on the other side of the building. The others rushed in from their stations along the other four corners of the apartment complex and joined her, crowding around the window to get a good look.

Melody pointed outside to the street below. She was grinning. “See? Isn’t that him!”

“And it’s Princess, too!” Mary squealed in excitement.

Richard suppressed the urge to quiet the girls down. It was Dad, all right. He was walking cautiously down the narrow pot-holed street carrying his hunting rifle, a backpack slung over his shoulder. The late afternoon sun bled orange across the horizon, shadowing their father’s face from view, but it was clear he was focused on their building. “It’s him. Let’s see if we can get this window open.

Paul and Max helped him at the window. It was nailed shut, and the rust of long years had all but welded the window shut. Finally, Paul pulled a drawer out of a broken dresser in one of the second floor apartments and approached the window. “Stand back,” he said.

Paul rammed the drawer through the glass, which shattered and fell into the room, some crashing to the sidewalk below. Richard saw Dad look up at the window as Melody shouted down. “Dad! We’re up here!”

“Get down here!” Dad called down. “We don’t have a lot of time!”

“Let’s go!” Richard said. All five of them headed out of the apartment and pounded down the stairs to the first floor.

They were just reaching the front door when they heard a single gunshot from outside. Richard felt his heart lurch. “Dad?” he called out.

“I’m okay,” Dad said. “Just had to shoot something. Hold on.” There was a few more gunshots, then the sound of footsteps mounting the front steps to the building. A moment later Richard heard Princess sniffing around outside, whining. “This front door is completely boarded up. Let me see if I can pry these boards off.” The sound of Dad trying to pull the boards off the door; grunting, straining. “Shit!”

“The back door!” Max said. His face was pale, shiny with sweat.

“Dad, we’re going out the back,” Richard called out. “The back door isn’t boarded up!”

“I’ll meet you back there,” Dad said. “Be careful!”

Richard, Melody, Max, Paul, and Mary rushed down the hall to the rear of the apartment building.

Columbia, Pennsylvania

Tim Gaines and Mike Lombardo had been preparing to pay a visit to their Pastor when the End Times came with a bang.

Of course, they’d argued about it with Jennifer Wasco, Mike’s roommate. Jennifer was as dumb as a rock and spent most of her time on the sofa scarfing down potato chips and watching stupid reality shows;
The Jersey Shore
,
Bridezilla
, anything with Real Housewives. Mike thought such shows were sinful, and Tim agreed, but didn’t do much to try to encourage Jennifer that she shouldn’t poison her mind with such filth. They’d been arguing about the alleged merits of such television programming, when the news had interrupted with the first reports on the monster invasion.