Empire Of Salt (40 page)

Derrick jerked his hands back and found himself staring into yellow zombie eyes. The creature chewed and gnawed at the grate, breaking teeth on the metal. The zombie snapped like a savage dog on the other side of a fence, unwilling to back down, not knowing that it couldn't chew through the barrier, not caring, driven by a desire it couldn't understand.

Another zombie crashed on top of the first one. It had an eye missing and fungus growing in the empty socket. It hissed and pushed, trying to get to Derrick, fighting the other for position.

Derrick met the dead hungry stares of the zombies as they glared at him, need behind each glowing yellow eyeball. They wanted him. They needed him. They'd do anything to have him.

Then it began to rain harder, as Tropical Storm Hiawatha asserted itself. The sump growled. He peered up at the zombies above him.

A horrible thought struck him. After all this, he might end up drowning down here.

It began to rain harder and Derrick swore that he could see the water level rising even as he prayed for the sump pump to work faster.

V
eronica cried wildly into the rain. Zombies had taken her uncle as he'd tried to dig a hole in their backyard. She'd been unable to save him and had barely been able to save herself. Now, staggering down the street, she wasn't sure where to go.

She saw the golf cart swerving down the street and ran towards it. Although the rain was coming down hard, she thought she saw Mr. Duphrene behind the wheel. He'd be able to help. He might even have a way out.

She jumped into the street and began to wave her arms.

"Over here! I'm over here, Mr. Duphrene."

The cart swerved hard to the left, then to the right, and then straightened, as if he was drunk. She lowered her arms. He drew near, but he wasn't slowing, and there was something wrong with the way he looked. Almost too late, she saw what had happened and dove out of the way.

The cart careened past. The zombie that had been Mr. Duphrene turned his head and roared at her, crashed into the side of a trailer and was propelled over the steering wheel and into the side.

Veronica began to back away.

Mr. Duphrene climbed over the ruin of the cart and got to his feet. He stared at Veronica for a moment, raised his hooks into the air and came running at her.

She turned to run, but slid on the wet pavement and fell down hard enough that her knees began to bleed. She staggered to her feet just in time to dodge the flailing arms of the hook-handed zombie.

He skidded to a stop, and fell as he tried to turn around.

She backed towards the wreck of the cart, hoping to use it as a shield between her and the zombie.

It roared and came at her again. She climbed through the cab of the cart as it lunged at her, but wasn't fast enough. One of the hooks snagged the end of her tennis shoe, piercing the leather. Somehow her toes were spared any damage, but the hook was set hard in the leather.

She kicked with her free leg, catching the zombie in the face each time, but seemed unable to hurt it.

The zombie pulled her towards it, and as it did, the other hook came down between her legs. She lurched back at the last moment, barely avoiding being pierced in the abdomen.

She rolled over and tried to pull away, but try as she might, she couldn't get free of the hook. She felt a sharp pain as Mr. Duphrene's teeth sank into her calf and screamed, kicking fiercely with both legs.

The sound of a car engine roaring was followed by a tremendous jerk that dragged her several feet. But she was released, and gathered her feet under her and turned around.

A car had rammed right into the Duphrene zombie, pinning him to the wall of the trailer and hitting him with such force, the straps of the prosthetic had snapped off, leaving the hook still attached to her foot. She freed herself and threw it away.

The driver's side door opened and a man staggered towards her.

Not again!

Then she recognized the driver. It was Frank, the town drunk. She'd thought he'd died during the fight with Hopkins earlier. One of his arms was in a dirty sling. The other held a bottle of whiskey.

"Step right up," he slurred. "The bar is open."

He saluted her with the bottle and staggered down the street and out of sight.

Veronica climbed out of the wreck of the cart, turned and ran.

Nothing stopped her until she'd reached the safety of Natasha's grandfather's trailer.

Natasha had seen Derrick scramble into sump pump #2 with what seemed like a hundred zombies clawing at the grate.

Veronica sat on the couch being treated for a bite wound by Auntie Lin beneath the half-roof of the deck.

How were they were going to save her brother? Metzger had planned to set fire to some of the trailers and draw the monsters' attention away, but with the rain coming down, there was no way a fire would stay lit.

The ceiling beneath her feet bumped again and she couldn't help but jump. Zombies had followed Veronica to their trailer and had almost made it up to the roof. If it hadn't been for quick thinking on Metzger's part in breaking loose the boards and knocking down the old wooden stairs, their fate would have been sealed. Now the zombies were in the house, rooting around, doing God knew what. And each bump served to remind her that only sheet metal, wood and fiberglass protected them from the zombies' relentless hunger.

"Have you figured out how to save my brother yet?" she asked.

"We're not going down there, that's for sure."

As if by way of confirmation, the zombies thumped against the ceiling beneath them again. There were others clawing at the metal side of the trailer, searching for purchase. Their fingers sounded like fingernails against chalk boards.

"Then what?"

Metzger peered into the rain and shook his head. "There aren't too many options. We can sit it out and hope that one of them doesn't figure out how to lift the grate or..."

"Or what?"

"Or I can try and make that propane tank explode and see how many of them I can take out."

Natasha turned back to the telescope. The propane tank in question was only twenty feet from the sump and much too close to her brother for comfort. Derrick's chances at surviving were slim. She wanted to tell Metzger that, but they'd run out of options. The cavalry wasn't coming. They had this one chance. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt, but she was certain this was the only way.

Still, she had to ask. "Is that the best you can do?"

He shrugged.

"Isn't it too far?"

"It better not be." He held up the XM8 assault rifle he'd taken from the soldier in the restaurant. "I've never fired one of these 8s before, but they have the same ammo as the M16, so the range is probably similar. It looks to be about a hundred meters. I can hit that."

"In the rain? With zombies milling around?"

Metzger breathed deeply a few times, then fired. But instead of an explosion, he was rewarded with an anticlimactic clang. He tried again with the same result.

"Fuck me. The damned bullets won't penetrate. Must be soft tip."

"What does that mean?" Natasha asked.

"It means they'd tear through the human body, but won't do jack to something made out of metal."

He stared momentarily at the rifle. "Aw, fuck it," he said and aimed again before letting loose a stream of automatic rifle fire. At first it had no effect other than raising a clatter, but then a fireball erupted, followed by a deafening explosion that enveloped the zombies, the sump pump and the piles of trash heaped around it.

Veronica and Auntie Lin ran to the railing. All four watched as the fireball ate itself, leaving a pile of charred zombie parts and a herd of burning, stumbling, creatures, lurching aimlessly back and forth and into each other in various states of dismemberment.

The zombies began to attack each other as the propane-fueled fire ate at their flesh. The sound of the storm resumed, but it was different from before. Now Natasha heard sizzling as the water began putting out the burning wreckage. But the zombies were another matter; no matter how much rain fell upon the flames consuming their bodies, the fire refused to die. All Natasha could think of was the isotope in their blood and wonder if it, too, was flammable.

Metzger stood suddenly and began to open fire at the propane tank next to the house next door. It took fewer rounds this time. The tank exploded like the one before it, lighting every zombie within its proximity on fire. He reloaded from a cargo pouch in his pants and continued firing. Soon explosion after explosion rent the air. All around them were fireballs and burning zombies.

Metzger fired until all four magazines were empty and at least two hundred of the monsters were on fire, some fleeing as fast as they could, fanning the flames even faster. They plowed into other zombies and into trailers, their flaming impetus setting fire to everything they touched.

"Get ready to go." Metzger checked the rifle and his pockets for more ammunition. Finding none, he tossed the weapon over the side, drew a pistol from his shoulder holster, checked to see if it was loaded, and turned to the others. "We're leaving in ten seconds."

Natasha was terrified that her brother had been killed. She wanted Metzger to promise her that he was okay. But he seemed distant, more like a soldier now than he had been. He was a different person. Despite the fact that he was helping them survive, she wasn't sure she liked this version of him.

"Veronica, come and help me." He stood by one of the support posts of the half roof covering the deck. "We need to break this free from the posts. Lean with me."

Veronica got to her feet slowly. Her leg was bandaged tightly, but she seemed to be in another world since her auntie and uncle died. Still, she took one look and seemed to know what to do. They managed to rip the roof free and lower it across the gap between trailers so it could be used as a bridge.

Metzger started to step onto it, when Natasha screamed for him to wait. He stopped and looked back at her.

"Shouldn't we try someone light first? Just to make sure it holds?"

Metzger frowned and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Either it holds us or we all die. "What are you going to do if it breaks and I fall down there?" he asked, pointing towards the zombies. "What are you going to do if Auntie Lin falls? I'll tell you the answer: nothing. You'll do nothing right until the moment you die. Then that'll be something."

Natasha watched Metzger's back, noticing his hands clenching and unclenching. He was like he'd been when he'd first arrived, acting like an addict. She frowned.

Metzger put down another foot and allowed the wood and metal to take his full weight. Not even a tremble. They crossed quickly.

Natasha stole a glance towards the grate covering the sump pump. It was still there and didn't look like it had been moved. On the other hand, besides a few burning bodies, there were no zombies in the vicinity. If her brother was alive, now would be the time for him to get out of there.

She was about to shout when Metzger came and covered her mouth. His hand smelled like gunpowder. Her eyes narrowed and she tried to pry his hand away.

"Not yet," he hissed. "Wait until we're at the end, then we're going to make a run for that."