Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel (13 page)

Chapter 10

An Unexpected Visitor

Skylar Caldwell exited the bathroom after placing freshly folded towels in the linen closet. She brushed her long blonde hair away from her eyes and slipped an elastic band around it making a ponytail. Her morning chores were behind her, and she was eager to go online to search showroom floors for ideas on how to redecorate the bedroom.

She and Troy had been living in the house since August 2005, refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Prior to the storm, they had been living in an apartment in New Orleans. Troy was just about to begin the Academy for the New Orleans Police Department when Katrina hit. Their apartment went under eight feet of water after the levees broke. Fortunately for them, they had fled to Botte to ride out the storm. Botte was farther east. They had stayed with her father. What few valuable possessions they owned, having been recently married, they brought with them.

Going back to New Orleans amidst the chaos that followed was totally out of the question, for both of them. Troy had heard the NOPD had chronic corruption problems, which was true of all police forces to some degree, but Katrina exposed it beyond anyone’s imagination.

Skylar didn’t mind returning home to Botte. She had been waiting tables in a restaurant in the French Quarter, and she had grown tired of the long hours and finicky tourist after the three years of working there. She had met Troy while serving him a muffaletta. He had liked the sandwich, but fell head over heels in love with her at first sight. They were married within a year of meeting.

Troy had been working as a deputy sheriff in the neighboring Jefferson Parish at the time, and signed up with the NOPD in order to start a life in the Crescent City. The new job meant better pay and benefits.

Botte was short of a deputy, and Troy immediately warmed up to the idea of keeping law and order in a small town and distancing himself from the drug-induced violence of New Orleans.

Skylar’s father died from a stroke six months ago. When she looked back on the last few years, it almost seemed like her future had been planned, and everything had fallen into place. She was able to care for him in those final days, until he took his last breath. As an only child, the house had become hers.

The laptop kicked on with the warm hum of the internal fan. Skylar grabbed bottled water out of the fridge and sat at the kitchen counter watching her desktop fill the screen. She clicked on the web browser and waited for her homepage to come up. The internet failed to connect. The bars on her router showed full strength. Even an attempt to ‘Try Again’ didn’t prove successful.

That’s just great,
she thought. She was looking forward to get back to planning the makeover of the living room. The living room was
tastefully
decorated in ‘Early Cajun.’ Mounted deer heads with large racks and various fish cemented in action poses hung on the wall. All that, and the early 60’s Sears and Roebuck furniture, had to go.  

   Her mind drifted, fretting over what to do next, when footsteps on the old wooden front porch pulled her back.
Wonder who’s here?

The steps clumped closer. Something bumped the door.

What the hell?

Skylar slid off the barstool and headed for the door. Her curiosity turn to anger as the knob rattled back and forth, held in check by the lock.
Damn kids from down the road playing pranks again
.
There’s nothing worse than summer vacation and bored children
. She let her ire get the better of her judgment and jerked the door open before looking out the window to see who it was.

Before she could deliver a tongue lashing to whomever it was about to invite themselves in, Skylar took two steps back and screamed, “Mrs. Jarreau! What happened?”

The old woman from the next property wore a blood stained nightgown covered in bits and scraps of meat. Her bottom jaw drooped showing red stained teeth. Trickles of blood streaked down her chin. Her left eye hung from the socket to her cheek.

The zombie stepped forward and tripped, crashing face first to the floor.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Did you get in a wreck?”

The zombie moaned slowly and expelled a blast of bodily gas. Skylar gagged and backed away as the putrid odor invaded her nostrils. She ran to the phone, dialed 911, and put it to her ear. The call didn’t connect, and pressing the switch hook several times had no luck in making a connection. Her hand went to her purse and pulled out the cell phone. She bounded to the front door, stepping over Mrs. Jarreau, and scanned the area while it powered up.

There weren’t any cars on the road for as far as she could see. Mrs.
Jarreau must have hurt herself at home. Maybe she tripped and fell.
From her condition though, that hardly seemed to be a rational explanation.

The zombie moaned again and tried to push itself up.

Skylar ran to Mrs. Jarreau’s side and held her to the floor. “Please stay down, Mrs. Jarreau. Don’t move. You’re hurt pretty bad. Try to relax until I can get an ambulance.” There were no reception bars on the cell phone. “Oh, crap.”

More moans uttered from the old woman with a ferocity that sent shivers up Skylar’s back. Something was terribly wrong.

The zombie forced itself up on its feet. Skylar backed away, giving it all the room that it needed. Her heart pounded, and her mind reeled in a hundred directions, unable to decide on what to do.

The reanimated woman’s arm stretched out toward Skylar’s face. It hissed wickedly and lunged for its next victim.  

With the option to fight or flee, Skylar chose the latter. A quick turn on her heels had her pointed to the stairs. She sprinted across the living room and stumbled on a rug before reaching the bottom step.

None of this made any sense. It was like the whole world was falling down around her. No internet, no phones, a crazed, bloody neighbor trying to do God-knows-what to her. It was just like a bad, late night horror movie.

With no more time to waste, Skylar ran up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She pushed the button to lock the knob, testing it to make sure it wouldn’t move. She leaned with her back on the door, scared out of her mind.

* * *

On the ride back to his house, Troy checked his cell phone for signal strength. It didn’t appear he was going to be able to get in touch with Skylar to see if she needed anything from the grocery store. It never failed that if he didn’t call, there was always something she wished he had picked up. Life was funny that way.

The thousand bucks in his front pocket made his chest swell and a grin curl on his lips. Sky was going to be so surprised when he handed her the ten 100 dollar bills. He tried to think of ways to give it to her. Hold out two closed fists, and say, ‘pick a hand’? ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand’? Maybe just sneak it into her wallet and wait for her to find it. Now
that
would be an absolute hoot to watch.

The police cruiser pulled into the driveway and crept to a halt in front of the old Cyprus house. Troy shut down the engine, unbuckled the seat restraint, and got out of the car.

As the door closed, he turned and saw the front door wide open. This struck him as unusual. The hot Louisiana weather didn’t allow open doors and windows often, especially this time of the year.
What the hell is Sky trying to do, make it cooler outside on the porch?
The electricity bill was high enough without making the air conditioner work overtime.

His gazed drifted to the steps as he climbed, and then onto the porch. Drops of red, some smeared by footprints, led the way to the door.

Troy ripped the pistol from its holster, and held it with both hands, in a high-ready position. He placed his back to the façade of the house, and then turned and leaped into the living room, panning the area with the gun ready to fire.

Banging on a door from upstairs jerked his head toward the sound. A loud, eerie moan followed.

He was at the base of the stairs in no time. “Sky! It’s Troy. Sky!” he called as he flew toward the top.

He held his position on the stairs when the intruder presented itself in the line of fire. “Police! Hands in the air!”

A woman in a nightgown pounded on the bedroom door. Her ratty, long black hair hung down to the small of her back. There was no mistaking it, this was their neighbor.

Troy let the pistol point to the floor. “Mrs. Jarreau? What in the hell is going on here?”

The old woman turned and looked at him with yellowing whites surrounding her dead vacant eyes. Her face contorted in a snarl, blood and gunk covered her mouth and gown.

Even though she was a neighbor that he had known for years, the utter revulsion twisting his insides was beyond description. “Stay back, Mrs. Jarreau! Stay back!”

The words fell on deaf ears. The zombie shambled toward the top of the stairs and fell on top of Troy three steps below.

The police officer yelled as he fell to his back, with the zombie riding him like a sled down to the floor. Troy’s head banged against each step. Each blow jolted his focus as hands reached for his throat. Her mouth lowered in for a bite.

He managed to get his left hand on her throat, and keep her snapping teeth at bay, as his descent bottomed out on the floor.

“Get off me, you stupid bitch!” Troy batted at her flailing hands with his pistol, trying his best not to hurt her, yet.

“Troy! Troy!” Pounding feet down the stairs told him Skylar was at least okay enough to walk. He prayed she had escaped this mad woman’s clutches.

“Sky! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Oh, Troy, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know. I can’t take much more of this. Get back up to the bedroom and holler when you’re there.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Footsteps diminishing reverberated in the wooden stairs told him she followed orders.

“I’m here,” she called down.

Troy forced the gun in the zombie’s face. She opened her mouth wide as if to swallow it whole.

The pistol discharged twice. The old woman’s body went limp. Troy held her tightly by the throat, keeping the same amount of distance, until totally convinced she was dead.  

Still on his back, he scooted away until his feet cleared the bottom steps before tossing the body aside.

“Troy! Is it over? Can I come down?”

He rolled on his side and breathed deeply. “Yeah, yeah come on down. It’s over.” His last words a sigh of relief.

Once again, feet pounding the stairs let him know Sky was coming down. Troy rolled on his back and looked at her with tired eyes.

“Did she hurt you?” Skylar asked as she knelt by his side.

“No, no. I’m okay. How about you?”

“I made it to the bedroom before she could get her hands on me. I don’t know what’s going on. It started as a strange day, and it’s only gotten worse. What happened to Mrs. Jarreau? I thought she might have gotten in a wreck or something when she came to the door. But now, I think she’s sick, or was sick. Did you have to kill her? Couldn’t you just have knocked her out?”

Troy sighed. “No, no honey. There was no other way. My life was threatened, and I had no other choice. She may not look like it, but that woman was strong. I was losing any advantage I had in the beginning. I had to kill her. She was trying to claw my eyes out and . . . and she was trying to bite me.”

“Trying to bite you? I—wait, do you think she has rabies? I’ve read that if you have rabies it can make you want to bite people.”

“That’s possible, I guess. Never really given it much thought, but that could be the case.”

“What about Eli. Do you think she hurt him, or worse?”

“Eli gets up at 4 AM to start his fishing day. I’ll hop in the car and drive over there. If his boat’s gone, then he’s not going to have a clue as to what happened to his wife.”

“What about Mrs. Jarreau? The phones are out, so we can’t call for an ambulance. There’s no way you’re going to leave her here with me. Just looking at her makes me afraid.”

A shadow fell on Skylar’s peripheral. Something blocked the light coming in the front door. Skylar looked up and screamed. Troy rolled on his stomach with his arms outstretched and pistol pointed.

Eli Jarreau had not gone fishing that morning. He was standing in the doorway. His left arm was missing the hand, and white bone stuck out from the elbow as if a wild animal had stripped it of flesh. Intestines hung from his abdomen and had been dragging on the ground leaving a trail of muck on the porch.

Troy fired twice. One bullet missed. The other hit the zombie in the chest. The round had little effect. Eli stepped forward, dragging its intestines, and let out another of those God-awful moans.

Skylar sprang up, and backed away, until she crashed into the set of fireplace tools by the wall.

A shot to the chest like that would have dropped anyone. Feeling vulnerable, sprawled on the floor, Troy hopped on his knees and began to stand when the zombie reached out and grabbed the gun. Troy fired two more times as he struggled to free it, hitting a lamp made from a stuffed albino squirrel on a table.