Dawn of the Apocalypse: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel (12 page)

            And then shots rang out in the parking lot.

            "We got some brain eaters!" Charlie shouted.

            I grabbed my M-4 and took off running towards his location.  The zombies were coming down the road.  Not many.  Maybe two dozen, mostly women and children.  They were all in shorts and t-shirts, and covered in blood.

            "I hate seeing the zombie kids most of all," Charlie said.

            The tank at his feet was forgotten, and overflowing with gas still coming out of the car tank.  I yanked the clear rubber tube out and closed the tank.

            "You know you are standing in a puddle of gasoline while shooting," I said, giving him a punch in the shoulder.  "Are you trying to blow yourself up?"

            He glanced down, shrugged, and stepped away.  We shot the five lead zombies, and then I grabbed the gas tank and headed for the boat.  Charlie hung back to shoot a few more.

            "Come on!" I called.

            The zombies started running as soon as Charlie turned to follow me.  I stopped to watch them.  It was kind of eerie how they moved almost like a flock of birds or a school of fish.  Like they had some sort of mental link or something.

            "Heads up!" Mike screamed.  "Grenade!"

           
Poof!

            It arched up over Charlie and me to land in the middle of the pursuing zombies.

           
BOOM!

            That grenade knocked half of them down.  I watched a moment later, and all but one got back up.  At least five of them were within the kill zone, too.

            It gave us the time to reach the boat.

            "Don't waste grenades on zombies," I said to Mike.  "That last one hit them dead center, but only killed one."

            We arrived with six empty tanks, and left with seven full.  One empty was left up in the parking lot.  Net gain.

            "It wasn't all a loss," Mike said as we sped away at half-speed.  "I found some sugary munchies and cases of bottled water in the marina store, and…"  He paused for dramatic effect, and to grin at us.  Kind of annoying.  "…Beer."

            "You were always my favorite," Charlie said.

            Mike didn't just find beer.  He had a whole cooler full of it.  They were warm, but still beer.  I tossed a can to Charlie, and got one for myself.  Mike already had an open can.

            "Just don't get drunk," I said.  "If we all pass out, we die."

            "How do you figure that?" Mike asked.

            "We'll go over a spillway or drift up to shore so zombies can eat us," I said.

            "True," Charlie said.  He grinned.  "One of those zombie chicks back there wasn't very bloody, and was kinda cute.  She can eat me any day."

            "You are such a sick bastard," I said, shaking my head.  Then I grinned.  "You're sick, and Mike's batshit crazy.  I admire that about y'all."

Chapter 17

            After leaving the marina, we enjoyed a relatively nice day on the river.  It was hot, muggy, and there were really annoying flies, but mosquitoes didn't bother us too much, and we had water and beer and munches.  I didn't even mind the warm beer.

            There was another lock to pass through towards evening.  That was a little hairy, especially since Mike was at the wheel.  Then we found a calm cove that allowed us to jump overboard and bathe for the first time since going AWOL back in Wyoming.  It was nice.

            We washed our clothes as best we could, considering we didn't have soap and the water was brown with dirt.  After that, we sat around in our underwear, drank beer, and let our clothes dry while draped over the rail.  We remained at anchor through a dinner of MREs and Hostess cupcakes, washed down with Budweiser Light.

            It was my turn to drive when we left at sunset.  Our clothes were dry, and we were tired from another long day.  The night went without incident.  We took turns of two hours at the wheel, and four hours sleeping.  Just like guard duty.  The next morning we were ready to take on the world.

            "How are we doing with fuel?" I asked when I took over the wheel.

            "Don't ask," Charlie said.  "That motor burns through these tanks like crazy.  We've already used more than half of the gas we collected yesterday."

            We weren't even running that fast.  I was hoping we'd get better gas mileage at lower speed, but it honestly didn't look like it.  The Humvee got better gas mileage.  Maybe as much as twice as much.  At least Mike loaded us up with outboard oil, so we could siphon gas anywhere we found it.  If we found more.  It was late morning before we spotted something interesting.

            "My dream house," Mike said.

            It was a river front home on stilts.  The white-painted, wood frame house was off the ground a good fifteen feet.  There was a pickup and a sedan parked under it.  I thought of it as a beach house, but knew people lived like that in flood plains.  We idled off shore, while all three of us looked for survivors and zombies.  Once we were reasonably certain it was safe, we went ashore.  Since there was no dock, we pulled to the river bank.

            Leaving the boat tied to a tree, we went into full combat mode.  Helmets, a full load of ammo, we quickly secured the yard and area under the house.  All of that thick forest around us worried me.  Zombies could be right on top of us before we knew it.  The boat was a good twenty yards away.

            The pillars that the house sat atop were thick steel pipe.  I estimated it was about a thousand square foot home, with that much space below it.  The pickup was a beauty, a brand new full-sized Dodge, light gray paint, and big ass mudder tires.  It was four wheel drive, of course.  It was unlocked, but no key.  I doubted it would start, but it was worth a try.  Not every vehicle would be killed by the EMP.  There were always survivors.

            Without a key, there was no way to see how full the tank was.  We were able to pop the gas cap.  The car was also unlocked, so we could access its gas tank as well.  There was even a 4-wheeler ATV and a riding lawn mower.  Both the ATV and lawn mower started.  The 6-gallon plastic gas tank was half full.

            On top of that, there was a small haphazardly built shed with camping gear.  I yanked out two nylon packs, one red and one blue.  I wanted those.  Plus I noticed a Coleman stove and lantern that we could use.  We could use the two tackle boxes and dozen rods and reels, too.

            "Let's make sure there aren't any survivors up in the house before we start taking the gas and other stuff," I said.

            Stealing their gas would probably get us shot in the back.

            I led the way up the stairs.  They creaked loudly, so there was no sneaking up on that house.  They would know we were coming up.  So I took the last few steps more cautiously.  No weapons were sticking out windows or doors.  There still wasn't any sign of life.

            The deck completely circled the house.  We checked it out, looking in every window.  Since the curtains were all drawn, we couldn't see a thing inside.

            "Nice view," Mike said once we worked our way around to the front door.  "And the breeze is nice up here, too.  This is my idea of paradise."

            I preferred the mountains, but to each his own.  The view of the river was pretty spectacular.  My problem was how often I heard about the Mississippi flooding.

            We moved into position to enter.  I tested the door knob, turning it as slowly and quietly as possible.  It was unlocked.  I cracked the door, and then kicked it open.  Rushing through, I moved to the side as I looked for enemies to shoot.  Instead I found a scene out of a nightmare.

            "Oh god," Charlie gasped.  "The stench is horrific."

            Nothing stank worse than rotting human flesh.

            "Paradise lost," Mike said.  "Jesus."

            A man lay spread-eagle in the middle of the living room.  The back of his head was a bloody mess.  Blood, bone, and brains splattered the ceiling, walls, and floor.  A shotgun lay atop him, one thumb still on the trigger.  From the degree of decomposition, I'd say he was about a week dead.  So the guy killed himself shortly after the shit hit the fan.

            "Why did he commit suicide?" Mike asked.

            It did seem odd, since there were hunting and fishing trophies on all walls.  He was an outdoorsman, so should've been better equipped to deal with the loss of civilization than most.  He could hunt and fish for food, if nothing else.

            Pounding on a door in back echoed through the house.  Then a soulful wail, followed by more pounding.  We quickly moved through the house, checking all of the open rooms.  The room in the very back was blocked from opening with a chair wedged under the knob.  The door was rattling the pounding was so hard.

            "I have a bad feeling about the reason he locked that person in there and then killed himself," Mike said.

            "Hello!  Who are you?" I called.  I was answered with more pounding.  "Zombie?"

            "That's my guess," Charlie said.  "His wife or girlfriend changed, but he wasn’t able to kill her outright, so locked her in there."

            "And then he killed himself," Mike finished.  "I can see it."

            We discussed leaving her in there, but decided someone would come along and let her out.  And then she'd eat them.  So we dragged the sofa over and blocked the hallway.  I tied a cord around one leg of the chair.  We got behind the sofa, took aim, and I yanked the chair away.  It only took a moment for the monster inside to open the door.

            "That's so disgusting!" I cried.  Her face was a bloody ruin.  She was covered in dark, mostly dried blood and gore.  Behind her, on the floor, were two tiny corpses.  Well eaten children.  My breakfast tried to come back up.  "Fire!"

            Her head all but exploded so many rounds hit it at once.

            "See if you can find the keys to the pickup," I said.

            After a short search, we found the keys to both vehicles in the woman's purse.  We didn't waste any time getting out of that hellhole.  Fresh air never smelled so fine.

            Neither vehicle started.  I sent Charlie and Mike to fetch empty tanks and the siphoning kit.  They hooked the trailer to the ATV, so were able to bring every empty tank back up.  We had enough rubber tubes for each of us.  I siphoned the gas out of the pickup.  Mike took care of the car, and Charlie drained the riding lawn mower and most of the gas out of the ATV.

            We did discuss taking the ATV with us, but it was too much for that pontoon boat.  It would probably cause us to capsize.  We got most of those tanks topped off.  Plus we got the 6-gallon can.

            "Let's load these all back into the trailer and – " I said, but noticed Mike and Charlie staring down at the river.  I looked and saw four zombies by the boat, and two others on the boat.  Then as one they turned and looked at us.  "Well that just sucks."

            A sound to our right brought us around, weapons at the ready.  Six more zombies were stumbling out of the woods to the north of the house.

            "Three more over there," Charlie said, pointing to the east.

            Practically surrounded, we ran up the stairs to the house.  We could lock the door, but I didn't want to deal with that stench and we'd be trapped inside.  Then I realized the windows were many and large.  The zombies could smash through them easily.

            "We fucked up.  We should never have come back up here," I said.

            "You, sir, are wise beyond your years," Charlie said.  "Translation, Duh."

            For a second, I really wanted to punch him.  Then I heard them coming up the stairs.

            "Mike, blow away the stairs with a grenade."

            "I didn't bring any fucking grenades!"

            The stairs came up the side, about midpoint on the house.  There was a front door and a back door.  I sent Charlie to the back corner and Mike to the front.  The zombies would come onto the deck in their crossfire.  I headed into the house to look for something, anything, we could use to fight them.

Chapter 18

            The sound of gunfire echoed through the dead house.  I struggled to keep my gorge down as I rifled through the cupboards looking for flammables.

            "How flammable is vegetable oil?" I muttered.

            "They're on the deck!" Charlie shouted.   "Too many to stop!"

            The gunfire continued unabated.  Both of them were firing three to five round bursts now, so no longer taking careful aim.  That wasn't good.

            I opened up the vegetable oil and threw it against the wall.  That couldn't hurt, but cooking oil was used to deep fry, so how flammable could it be?  I checked both bedroom closets and the bathroom.  Nothing like kerosene or lamp oil was to be found.  I figured an outdoorsman like the late home owner should have camping equipment and the fuel to power it.  Then I remembered seeing camping gear under the house.  I was about to give up when my eyes fell upon the stove.

            The gas stove.

            "Oh hell yes," I said.

            The gunfire intensified even more.  Two zombies began pounding on the outside walls and windows as I turned on all burners.  I blew and blew, but couldn't blow out the flames.  So I turned the burners off and pulled the stove from the wall.  A bright yellow flexible hose stretched between the stove and wall.  I struggled for way too long before I finally got the line loose from the back of the stove.  I didn't know if it was natural gas, butane, or propane, but it was filling that house up with highly explosive gas.