DEAD RAIN: A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse (18 page)

45

Bronski plopped down next to Cat on a bench. The rain stung their faces but felt good on their backs, like magic fingers massaging them through their plastic ponchos. “How you holding up, kitten?”

“I won’t lie, Nick, I’ve felt better. I don’t want to slow you down. You’ve lost enough time as it is. You have to get back
to headquarters. They need to know about this. Whatever the hell it is.”

“Forget that. We don’t have much farther to go. Just let me know when you need to take a break. We can go a little easier now that we’re safe up here on the boardwalk. And you’ll be able to rest once we get to the station.”

“Shit! We have company!” shouted Ryan, his voice pitched with anxiety. They turned to see him gazing down the ramp they just came up.

“Looks like I spoke too soon,” Bronski said, and he hurried over to see what the boy was crowing about.

Several zombies were slogging through the water toward the boardwalk. A few were already trudging up the ramp.

“Time to go!” snapped Bronski, turning to Ryan. “Get moving. Go on, kid, get them out of here. Help Cat, she’s weak. I’ll try to slow them down.”

Ryan ran over to Emma. “Come on, Emma,” he gently urged. “We have to move.”

Emma
hesitated, tired and drenched and stiff from the unrelenting rain. But when Bronski started firing at the zombies with his AR-15 she leaped to her feet. “What’s happening?!”

“It’s okay,
let’s go,” said Ryan calmly. “We’ll be safe if we keep moving.” Kerri joined him and together they helped Cat to her feet and supported her between them. Emma grabbed his free hand and they all started hiking down the boardwalk, moving as fast as Cat could hobble. The wind and the rain lashed them without mercy. Ryan ignored the discomfort, focusing his attention on Emma’s hand in his. It was soft and warm in contrast to the bitter weather.

Bronski remained in position, picking off the cadavers as they staggered up the ramp. He was a crack shot, and quickly figured out that head shots were key.
Soon there was a pile of twice dead bodies blocking the bottom of the ramp, flopped half in the floodwater and half on top of each other. But Bronski realized his shots were drawing more of the walking dead. With each flash of lightning he saw more and more in the flooded streets below, clawing through the water on their way to the boardwalk.

It was time to cut and run.

***

Sheriff Leeds took aim through his riflescope, drawing a bead on the back of Bronski’s head as he turned and jogged off to catch up to his companions. But again he lowered his gun. Realizing that he needed to maintain his patience and not scatter the group with a premature shot.

The right time would come. And it would come soon.

46

Bronski caught up to the group as they passed the next entrance ramp. He hurried to Cat’s side to check on her. He found her pale and dizzy from loss of blood, but bravely struggling on, supported by Kerri and Ryan. “Cat. How are you holding up?”

“Depends on how much farther we have to go.”

“Okay. Just hang on a little longer. We’ll rest soon.” He turned to Ryan. “How much farther?”

“Not far. Just a few more blocks. Then we have to cut back across the island to the marina. Back through the flooded streets.”

They exchanged knowing looks. Both knew that Cat would be a liability on that journey. As would Emma.

Bronski took the lead, hoping to set a quicker pace. He knew Cat’s stubborn pride would impel her to keep up with him. He hated to push her but hoped if he did that she’d rally on will power alone. It worked for a minute… then she stumbled and sank to her knees.

“Hold up!” Kerri called.

Bronski turned and was dismayed to find Cat sitting cross-legged on the boardwalk, head hung faintly. He rushed to her side and took a knee, ashamed for pushing her too hard.

“Jesus, Cat. We have to get you someplace safe.”

“No.
You go. You have to go get help.”

“I’ll go. But not until I know you’re someplace safe. And
then I’ll be back for you before you have a chance to miss m—”

A booming gunshot cut him off. He turned to see Ryan firing Hayes’ shotgun—th
en saw what he was shooting at.

A zombie lay sprawled in a bloody heap on the boardwalk just twenty feet behind them, and two more were staggering up from the entry ramp behind it. Ryan dispatched them with two quick shots, pumping the semi-automatic like a pro.

“Come on, people, move it!” Bronski shouted, waving Ryan over. “Sorry, Cat, but we have to go.” Slinging his rifle over one shoulder he scooped her up and threw her over the other one in a fireman’s carry.

R
yan kept pumping the shotgun, blowing away zombies as they reached the top of the ramp. It made him feel good, taking control and wielding power.

“Ryan, come on!” Bronski called. “Save your rounds. You’re only drawing more of them.”

***

Crouched behind a trash receptacle a block away, Leeds observed the scene with mixed emotions. On one hand, watching the Resurrecteds slog doggedly through the deep rushing floodwaters and make it up the ramp to the boardwalk gave him hope that they’d overtake the refugees and finish them off. But they also created a lethal barrier, separating him from his quarry. Making it more difficult to finish the job himself.

Reaching back for his canvas tac bag he glanced up and nearly had a heart attack as he discovered a handful of hungry ghouls on the boardwalk behind him, just yards away. He snatched up the bag and hurried away—but stopped as he saw a half-dozen corpses ahead on the boardwalk and more stumbling up the ramp.

Leeds turned back to assess the situation. The zombies behind him were steadily shambling towards him. The group ahead were focused on the fleeing troopers and their companions, and hadn’t yet noticed him. But they certainly would if he tried to slip past them. It was clear that the mass of zombies from the overpass had followed them. The boardwalk would soon be overrun.

His mind raced, desperately weighing his options. He could either break into one of the shuttered storefronts lining one side of the boardwalk or find some way to continue his deadly pursuit. He chose the latter.
I can’t rely on the dead to finish those troopers off.

He hustled to the ocean
-side railing and looked down. A flicker of lightning revealed the beach below. The storm-tossed Atlantic had encroached on the beach, with foaming breakers rolling beyond the normal shoreline, but a wide strip of sand along the boardwalk remained unflooded. It appeared to be uninhabited. And even if the zombies followed him down, Leeds knew enough about them to know they’d have a hard time walking on the rain-soaked sand.

He dropped his rifle and bag over the railing, then climbed over and lowered himself down. The drop to the beach knocked the air from his lungs, but the sand cushioned his fall. Nervous doubts made him second guess his decision as he stared into the dark maw under the boardwalk. He knew it was sealed by a
chain-link fence on the other side, but couldn’t stop imagining an army of horrors lurking in the utter darkness.

Suppressing a shiver he retrieved his gear and hurried on his way. The waterlogged beach sucked at his feet, making each step a chore. He huffed and puffed under the weight of his gear and cursed his paunchy belly. The wind whipped him furiously, pelting him with rain and seawater and stinging bits of sand.

Lightning lit the beach like a giant flashcube. Leeds’ disciplined lawman’s eyes scanned the area ahead in the fleeting shimmer of light, taking a mental snapshot. He was relieved to find himself alone but he didn’t feel totally safe. As he trudged past the thick wooden pylons that held up the boardwalk he kept an eye peeled for movement in the black void beyond. He was tempted to move away, closer to the water’s edge, but that would make him more visible to the zombies on the boardwalk. They might look down and spot him and would soon be lumbering down one of the sets of stairs that led down to the beach every hundred yards or so.

A soft thunking footstep sent a shiver up his spine. He looked up to see a zombie limping along near the railing above. Before it caught sight of him he ducked beneath the boardwalk, doing his best to move quietly—but his rifle clipped a pylon as he hurried past it.

The footsteps of the zombie stopped, directly above him.

Leeds cursed silently. His heart thumped in his chest, so loud he was sure it must sound like a regimental drum. Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the chilly air.
Had the wandering corpse heard the thunk of his gun as it hit the rough-hewn wood? Had it seen him before he ducked under cover? Could it smell him… or otherwise be aware of his presence?

He thought of his many years serving the dead and regretted not spending more time studying their habits. He had watched them feed many times, in the beginning. But he never really got used to it and despite his zealous support of the practice, he found it easier to bear if he simply set up the feeding and came back later to eliminate the leftovers. One of the most crucial aspects of the duty was preventing the delivered meals from joining the ranks of the undead. It was one thing to keep your beloved ancestors alive—if that’s what they were—but it would have been madness to let the outsiders resurrect. Killing—no,
sacrificing
—to feed your loved ones was acceptable in the eyes of the Lord. But there was no point in sustaining the criminal scum—
the damned
. Now, thanks to the stupid girl and that vintage car, there was no control over the process, no longer any containment. Every sort of riffraff and unworthy Gentile was mingled in with his precious ancestors.

Leeds’
disordered reverie was broken as the heavy-footed zombie clomped away, drawn to follow the herd moving down the boardwalk. He took a calming breath, then shuddered as he gazed into the impenetrable darkness behind him. He pulled out his flashlight but thought twice about using it—the Resurrected might see the light through the slats of the boardwalk and come to investigate.

Stepping back into the rain he hurried away.

47

Bronski’s group moved swiftly down the boardwalk—but even as the gap between them and the pursuing zombies grew, they were brought up short by the appearance of yet another bunch stumbling onto the boardwalk from the next entry ramp ahead.

Bronski quickly assessed their options. To their right was a row of shuttered businesses. T-shirt shop. Pizza joint. Frozen custard stand.
Nothing in there worth the risk of getting trapped inside.

To their left was a giant fun pier—a sprawling maze of ticket booths, popcorn stands, carnival games and amusement rides. The tracks of a monstrous roller
coaster ran along one side. A Ferris wheel towered over teacups and bumper cars and a colorfully painted funhouse. All closed up for the winter.

“This way. Hurry!” Carrying Ca
t he led the way onto the pier. Kerri followed, pulling Emma by the hand, trailed by Ryan, who moved warily, protecting their backs with the shotgun. As they reached the center of the pier, Bronski stopped to look around for a safe haven. He quickly dismissed the Ferris wheel and the roller coaster and the elegant carousel. They needed protection from the rain as well as from the psychotic horde, in a structure big enough to hold them all comfortably.

His eyes settled on the funhouse. The huge garish sign on the overhang said Devil’s Den. Beneath it stood a mechanical fiberglass dummy—a Luciferian ringmaster with a big mocking grin on his blood red face.

“This way! Hurry!” Bronski moved quickly to the entrance, which was sealed for the off-season by a pair of plywood panels. He gently lowered Cat to her feet, leaning her against the wall. She was doing her best to be stoic, but the pain on her face was evident.

“Hang in there, Cat,” he assured her. “You’ll be safe in
here until I bring back help.”

Pulling a flat steel pry
-bar from his tac bag he went to work, wrenching the padlocked latches from the plywood sheets. The wood splintered and the panels swung open, revealing a black swinging door with hellish red flames painted on it.

“Hurry!” Bronski urged the group, pushing the gaudy door open. “We have to get inside before they see us.”
He and Kerri helped Cat through the doorway.

Emma
hesitated, wary of the darkness inside. Ryan wrapped an arm around her and forcefully guided her in. “Come on. We’ll be safe in here.”

Bronski went back to close the plywood panels—but the first wave of walking dead had already wandered into view. He ducked back inside, discreetly pulling the swinging door shut.

Switching on his flashlight he scanned the entry hall for a stray piece of lumber or something big and heavy to block the door. Unfortunately there was nothing he could use, short of breaking something loose which would create a lot of noise. His only hope now was that the zombies would shuffle past their hideout, lose interest in searching the pier, and make their way back to the boardwalk.

At least we made it in out of sight in time,
he thought.
And out of that damned rain.
Be thankful for small blessings.

He turned the flashlight on his companions, who had stopped a few feet further down the black-walled hallway, too nervous to proceed any deeper in
to the darkness. Bronski signaled them to stay quiet, then motioned for them to move further into the structure. They needed to find a safe nook, a place for Cat to rest and recuperate while he ventured out to fetch the cavalry.

Kerri switched on her flashlight. They all locked hands in a daisy chain and she led them slowly into the bowels of the structure. Rain hammered a hollow rhythm on the roof. The black-painted walls and artfully integrated panels of chicken
wire created disorienting illusions of depth and space.

Monstrous mannequins glared silently from their perches… vampires and ghouls and witches and an axe-wielding executioner, all convincingly real in the sinister shadows.

But the real monsters lurked outside. They wandered in circles in the rain, moving from one sleeping thrill ride to the next, searching the darkness, sniffing the damp air—confused by the vague scent of prey that was nowhere to be found.