Die Dead Enough (12 page)

"Conor, check this shit out," Aiden said, pointing around the attic space. "He was prepared for this. You some sort of survivalist? Look at all of this!"

Half of the attic had been turned into a supply room, the other side unfinished, the ceiling joists still exposed. There were stacked cases of supplies against the walls and weapon racks suspended from the rafters. There was a mini-refrigerator and gallons of drinking water on shelves near a small cot that Aiden carefully placed Trish upon.

On a small table sat boxes of ammo, maps and a pair of binoculars that Conor moved to investigate.

"Hey-" the man started, but looked away as Conor waved his gun toward him.

"Just sit down somewhere," Conor said. "Away from the guns, if you don't mind. You got a first aid kit up here? You must have, you've got everything else."

The man held his tongue for a moment, but relented as Conor aimed the gun at him.

"Under the cot," the man said. "Everything you need; peroxide, alcohol, needle, thread, guaze, bandages... Apply direct pressure to both wounds, entry and exit. If it won't stop, I've got some Quickclot in there as well."

Trish was now shaking uncontrollably and crying, reaching out to Aiden. When he pulled her shirt up, her skin felt very cold, but the bleeding had already begun to slow. Conor grabbed the first aid container, popped it open and handed several gauze pads to Aiden.

"Better disinfect that first," the man said as he sat upon the plywood floor. "At least pour some peroxide on that. You guys don't look to clean to me. Probably all kinds of bacteria crawling all over you."

Conor and Aiden set to work dressing the wound and comforting Trish who was obviously going into shock.

"Don't take all my shit, guys, okay?" asked the homeowner. "Took me years to get this place just right."

"You know what? I'm in no mood to be nice," said Aiden as he held his palms firmly against Trish's abdomen and lower back. "We came here looking for a place to hide from those things. Have you been out there among them? They've taken over the world, man. Instead of letting ourselves be eaten by fucking zombies, we broke into your house. We meant you no harm. We just needed help, shelter... and you fucking shot my brother and Trish. I'm kinda in the mood to kill you, actually, but my hands are full at the moment."

"I didn't mean to shoot your girlfriend, dude. It was an accident. I thought she was one of those things. I mean, you guys are covered in blood-"

"Sounds like a good excuse," Conor said, examining his tricep where the bullet had clipped him. "But we were screaming down there. Zombies don't talk much, do they? I guarantee you heard us fighting them in your living room."

"No, I-"

"You're full of shit," said Conor. "And I'm having second thoughts about letting you up here. Now, shut the hell up."

Conor turned to his brother, his Glock still trained on the man, who was growing more nervous.

"How's it look?" Conor asked.

"Bleeding's mostly stopped," Aiden said, extending his hand. "Give me some more gauze pads and some tape."

Conor did so, assisting as they wrapped Trish's waist tightly. She was dazed and quiet, her eyes glassy as she stared at them.

"I'm so tired," she said as Aiden covered her with a blanket.

"It's okay. You can sleep now," Aiden said. "Just relax. We're not going anywhere."

She nodded, her eyes fluttered a few times and then she closed them. Aiden dropped down to sit on the floor and placed his rifle across his lap with a long sigh.

"So... what do we do with this guy?" he asked. "First chance he gets, he's gonna try to kill us."

"No. No, I won't," said the man, holding his hands out defensively. The blood on his face had now dried, his stubbly beard now crusted with it. "Everything's cool."

"You're telling me if I threw you this gun, you wouldn't shoot me with it?" Aiden asked.

"Of course, not!" the man said, with an exaggerated shrug. "I know what you guys are about now. Like I said... it's cool."

Aiden nodded.

"Okay, then," he said with a smile. "Matt, isn't it?"

The man looked surprised.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Guns and Ammo magazine on the floor over here. Got your name on it. Matt Phillips Jr."

"Oh, right. Yeah, Matt," the man said with a smile.

Aiden stood up and walked over to where Matt was sitting. He handed him the rifle much to Conor's surprise. Conor began to protest, but Aiden interrupted him.

"Matt, you got anything decent in that fridge?" Aiden asked, turning his back on the man as he crossed the attic.

"Come on, Conor. He's gotta have something in here. Want a bottle of water?"

Conor stared at him as if he had lost his mind, but Aiden nodded reassuringly. Conor stood and joined him as he opened the refrigerator.

"Are you fuckin' nuts?" Conor whispered.

Aiden handed him a bottle and a beef jerky.

"Shhh. Wait for it," Aiden said.

From across the room came a loud click, obviously the trigger on Aiden's empty weapon. Both brothers turned to see Matt with the rifle aimed at them. Matt shrugged with a smile, slowly lowering the AR-15.

"I emptied it in your living room, Matt. I'm not that fuckin' dumb. Now we know, right?" said Aiden, all-too-calmly.

Conor charged toward Matt, snatching the gun from his hands.

"Sorry, guys..." Matt said as Conor shoved him backward. He fell to the floor and quickly stood, a short combat knife how in his hand. "Not going out without a fight, ya know?"

"You fucking idiot," Aiden said, biting off a hunk of jerky. "My brother's a goddamned black belt."

Matt met Conor's eyes with a look of shock.

"Are y-?" Matt started, then lunged forward, the tip of the blade aimed at Conor's chest. Conor twisted to one side, throwing an arm up to block the attack. With his other hand he grabbed Matt's fingers and bent them backward, the knife dropping to the floor with a clatter.

Conor quickly spun in place, kicking out and driving his heel into Matt's sternum, throwing him across the attic. He tumbled sideways in the air, trying desperately to get his feet under him, but landed between joists where his legs fell through the floor. He dropped into the bedroom below up to his chest, his legs kicking like mad as he tried to pull himself up.

He screamed in pain suddenly, hands scrambling to find a hold.

"Aaaah! They're biting me! You gotta - no!" he cried. "Help me!"

Conor shook his head and walked out across a joist until he was close to Matt. The man thrashed about in agony as zombies ate away at his lower limbs.

"Matt, Matt, Matt. You're not going out without a fight, are you?" Conor asked as the man reached out in an attempt to grab his legs.

"Save me! Ah, fuck! Gaaaah!" Matt shouted, his body jerking about as the creatures below pulled roughly on him.

"It's cool, Matt," Conor said and stomped down hard on his head, shoving him completely through the floor where he fell into the room beneath. The disturbing sounds of tearing flesh and breaking bones came up through the hole as the horde greedily consumed him. Conor grimaced in disgust as he came back across the unfinished portion of the attic and joined his brother at a small table, where they sat for a moment in silence.

Eventually the horrific sounds of the zombies dwindled to low moans as most lost interest and moved out of the house, leaving a single stripped skeleton sprawled on the bedroom floor.

Somewhere in the distance they could hear shouts and rapid gunfire as others fought for their lives. In one night the world had fallen apart, a life of ease immediately replaced with one of brutal survival. Humanity scrambled like cockroaches, simply trying to find a secure place out of reach of the new dominant life form.

"You think Bo and Klaus are okay?" Aiden whispered.

"Shit," Conor said, standing and crossing to the small window that sat in the wall. From there he could see the liquor store next door. It was a single-story building, rectangular and painted a garish light blue color. All sides seemed to be covered in banners and neon beer signs, which had all gone dark.

There were two windows on the side of the building facing them and Conor could see movement within. Bo and Klaus or more zombies?

"Someone's in there," Conor said, keeping his voice low. "Can't tell if it's them..."

"Did they see us run in here?" Aiden asked, reaching for another bottled water.

"No idea."

"Well, we can't go anywhere right now anyway," Aiden said. "We gotta let her rest and get stable. I guess you don't have that walkie-talkie anymore, do you?"

Conor shook his head.

"Nope and I'm sure in all of the commotion, they've lost theirs as well," he said.

"Let's find a pen and paper. We'll make a sign and put it in the window in case they're down there looking for us. Here's a Sharpie right here."

When Bo reached the front door of the liquor store, he grabbed the handle and pulled to find it locked. In a panic he smacked both hands against the glass repeatedly, shaking the entire front wall of the place. Klaus arrived a few seconds later, breathing heavily.

"Of course, it's locked," Klaus said, peering in the window. "Why did we think it wouldn't be?"

"No other options, brutha. Don't matter now. We're fucked..." Bo said, turning to glance behind them. Zombies were slowly moving their way. "Thank the Lord those are the slow ones. Some of those bastards are fast as shit. Wonder why."

Klaus moved away and began to circle the building, staring up at the rooftop. Bo followed, eyes on the approaching monsters.

"Maybe we can get to the roof..." Klaus said. Suddenly his head was spinning and he felt light-headed, falling against a large trash dumpster that stood against the building. His face felt hot and he broke out in a thick sweat.

"You all right?" Bo asked, helping him to stand again. Klaus shook his head and ran a palm across his face. His beard was already dripping on to his shirt.

"Shit. I - I don't know," he said. "Feelin' sick, man. It just hit me. Almost blacked out."

"Now's a bad time fo' that, brutha," Bo said as the first of the zombies rounded the corner.

"Shoot 'em," Klaus urged.

Bo shook his head.

"You've seen these things, man. This whole clip might not bring down one of 'em," he explained. Just then he noticed zombies coming from the other end of the building, cutting off their only means of escape.

"Goddamn..." Bo said, looking left and right. "Get up on that dumpster! That's all we can do."

He helped Klaus quickly climb up onto the metal dumpster, then followed seconds before the first monster arrived. They now stood roughly five feet off the ground, barely out of reach of the claws that swiped at their legs. It would not take long for one of the creatures to pile on the others and reach the two of them.

Bo kicked the first zombie square in the face, shattering its nose and coating its face with blood. The thing simply staggered back, licked its lips and came back for more. Bo kicked it again with much the same result, nearly losing balance and tumbling into the undead mob.

Klaus was no help, standing in the center of the dumpster, holding his head, his body swaying one way then the other. To him, everything was a strange nightmare of double images and flashes of colored light. Although his mind told him what needed to be done, his body would not obey. His eyes would not focus and his legs began to shake, threatening to give out under his weight. He could hear Bo shouting to him, see his face splattered in gore, smell the rotting flesh as the horde grew and grew, but he could not offer help.

Then Bo slipped and fell, a zombie pulling his shoestring and wrenching one leg out from under him. Bo fought like a caged animal, legs kicking rapidly, shoving the monsters away, backing from the edge of the dumpster and sliding up against Klaus.

"Fuck, man! You gotta do something! You gotta help me, Klaus!" Bo screamed, coming up to his hands and knees, pulling the pistol from his belt. At point blank range, he blew the nearest zombie's right eye out, spinning the thing in a circle. "We are gonna die, dog! Snap the fuck out of it!"

Klaus looked at him in what seemed like slow motion, yet he could not react. Inside he was full of panic, completely aware of their predicament. Outwardly, there was nothing he could do. His head snapped to the right in response to the blast of a shotgun. Three more shots rang out and he could hear a man shouting.

"Come on!" came the voice, then more gunshots. "Run to me, ya'll!"

A white-haired man, thin and dressed in fatigues, motioned them toward the back of the building as his shotgun destroyed the creatures' heads, brains and bits of skulls showering the alleyway.

Bo did his best to help Klaus down from their perch, but in the end he tumbled to the ground with a low moan. Bo helped him to his feet and together they ran to the man, ducking as he shot zombies just behind them.

They saw the man look behind him, his eyes growing wide with fear.