Undead L.A. 2 (7 page)

He saw Mrs. Knudsen's rose garden up at the end of the street. The old lady spent hours every day tending to them during the summer months. Days when there was a warm breeze, Tyler could smell the fragrant blooms by simply opening his bedroom window. Now all he could smell was the foul stench of decay coming off the sun-heated reanimated corpses, ambling like a herd of sick cattle in the middle of the road, blocking his way out.

In a split-second decision, he turned the wheel and slammed his foot on the pedal, holding it to the floor with all the strength he could muster. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles went white, praying that the “swag wagon,” as his dad liked to call it, would respond. The vehicle began to shimmy violently, making a loud, grinding sound like metal on metal, and then shot out all of a sudden, springing forward like a cornered animal on the attack. The last thing Tyler saw, before plowing through the award winning rose garden, was the bite-riddled corpse of the old woman hitting the front of the van and slipping under the wheels.

Tyler screamed at the top of his lungs, more out of shock than fear, and let go of the wheel. The minivan careened onto a side street and slammed into the back of a midnight blue Ford F150 truck, spidering the windshield and causing the airbag to explode in Tyler's surprised face. His ears were ringing, and his face stung from the impact. The seat belt had dug into his chest, causing him to gasp for air as he undid it. He threw open the door and fell to the hot asphalt, sucking in as much air as he could, choking and coughing as he tried to catch his breath. A steady ringing from the open door brought his attention back to his surroundings, and he quickly got to his feet to see how bad things were.

“Fucking thing is like a homing beacon,” Tyler growled, spitting out blood from his split lip. One look at the minivan was enough to inform him that he could now officially add
'stranded outside in the middle of a zombie apocalypse'
to his growing list of problems. The entire front end was smashed in, and it looked like a fire had started underneath the carriage. The familiar howl of the ever-hungry dead could be heard all around as they made their way over to the crash, hoping to get a taste of Tyler's living flesh. He turned towards Emily's house, but the street was now covered in rotting ghouls.

It's like a funeral home entered the Rose Parade,
he thought.
How the fuck am I going to get out of this?

That's when he realized he'd been going about things all wrong. He was still thinking of the world in terms of how things were before all this madness started. He turned in the direction of Emily's house, realizing it was only a few houses over from where he was standing.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line
, he reminded himself.
Just pretend you're Ferris Bueller.

He ran up to the first house and struggled with the doorknob, but wasn't able to get it open.

“Shit, man,” he yelled. “Who locks their door in this neighborhood?”

He turned to see the ghouls closing in on him from the street. He yanked harder, rattling the door, but it didn't budge. He'd just let go when a loud thump and a roar from the other side made his heart pound in his chest, sending spikes of painful adrenaline through his body until he could taste the acid in his mouth. He ran towards the side of the house, passing a large window along the way that showed a man in a business suit with his three young zombie children, all howling and slamming their decaying bodies at the front door. The wooden side gate was partially ajar so he slipped inside, shutting and locking it behind him.

He turned and froze dead in his tracks, staring down at a large, muscular, bluenose pit bull, standing just feet away from him. The massive animal was crouched low to the ground, with its tail between its legs, whimpering. Tyler cautiously approached the dog, and put out his hand. The pit bull looked up with sad eyes and licked his hand, then put its head back down.

“Sorry I can't take you with me,” Tyler apologized. “You'll be okay girl. Just stay out of sight.”

Tyler gingerly stepped over the animal and made his way across the well-groomed backyard, passing through a recreation of a Japanese Zen garden. He used the gurgling waterfall statue to help him get up onto the top of the fence. From just a few feet up, he could make out a clear path to his girlfriend’s street. He slipped over the other side of the fence and into the neighbor’s yard, where the dead body of a grown man floated face down in the pool. His head had been smashed open and hollowed out. The water was a murky shade of black and dark red, the color of coagulated blood.

“Guess we're not the only ones to fight back,” Tyler said as he nervously made his way around the edge of the pool, past the Jacuzzi, and towards the next yard. Slowly, he made his way through several manicured yards, ducking past windows when he could, just in case his presence might lure out more biters.

When he got to the end of the block, he ran into his first real problem. The fence that bordered the street had been knocked down. He didn't notice it until he was already slipping into the yard from the other side. Nearly a dozen adult sized demons rounded the corner on Tyler, forcing him to rush to the sliding glass door, and lock himself in the living room of a stranger’s house. Within seconds, dozens more undead men, women, and children, had flooded into the backyard, and began pounding on the glass. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, before he even heard the growl behind him.

Oh shit,
Tyler thought in panic,
why didn't I bother to make sure the house was empty?

Slowly he turned to face the music. Standing between him and the front door were the corpses of a heavy-set man and his twin daughters. The guy was wearing an expensive designer brand jogging suit, while both the girls wore matching Sunday school dresses with creepy bows in their hair. Dark blood drooled out from the blistered lips of the man as he growled at Tyler. The skin on his forearms was torn apart, like he'd been attacked by a pack of wild dogs while taking a jog. Tyler guessed he'd brought it home with him before infecting his girls. A bite sized wound on the side of one of the girl’s heads seemed to lend credibility to the theory as well.

Tyler was frozen in complete fear and shock.

Why don't they charge me? What are they waiting for?

A quick glance at the family portrait on the wall confirmed that the big guy was Emily's neighbor, Mr. Hendrix, who lived over and across the street from her place.

Great,
Tyler thought.
All I have to do is make it out of here alive, then across the street to Em's. Piece of cake.

The sinking feeling in his stomach grew as Mr. Hendrix stumbled towards him. Tyler frantically scanned the room, looking for anything to use as a weapon. He thought of trying to lift the flat screen TV off the wall and throw it at them, but there didn't seem to be enough time to unplug all the wires—plus he wasn't sure he could actually lift it. The same with the bulky potted plants near the sofa.

Hurry up, man! You're running out of time. They're almost here!

A loud roar, and the sound of fists pounding hard on the glass sliding door behind him, shook him out of his inertia. Tyler’s adrenaline kicked into high gear, and he reacted without thinking. He dashed to the large floor lamp, picked it up, and jabbed it into Mr. Hendrix's face. The plug yanked free from the socket, giving him more freedom to swing the thing around. The soft glass of the bulb made a loud pop as it exploded into the man's sallow skin, cutting a fresh gash that bled a grisly mixture of seething pus and crimson tears.

The impact didn't slow Mr. Hendrix. It was as if he didn’t feel it at all. The jagged shards of glass still connected to the base of the bulb had become anchored into his skull. His incessant lunging had locked them in like Crazy Glue, trapping him at the end of the metal rod. Tyler had some breathing room, but not much and not for long. Mr. Hendrix roared with frustration as he clawed at the air, trying to close the gap between Tyler and his snapping jaws. Tyler shoved him back like an animal trainer working with an unruly lion, and knocked over the glass coffee table in the process. One side remained edge up while the rest of the glass shattered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little girls rushing towards his unprotected legs. Tyler quickly turned, and yanked the lamp down to block them, pulling the grisly corpse of his girlfriend's former neighbor down with it. The metal bar came down on the head of the first girl, knocking her back, but her twin slipped beneath it at the last second and charged teeth-first towards Tyler's crotch.

She's going to bite my junk,
Tyler thought in terror.

Fear and instinct caused him to kick out at her, just as she lunged for him. His foot caught her square in the gut, sending her flailing backwards towards her dad and sister. The blow did little to faze her. She sprung back to her feet, chattering like a rabid squirrel, and raced towards him again. Tyler kicked frantically at her, doing his best to keep her from sinking her tiny, sharp teeth into his legs. She just kept coming.

Do something, man, or you're going to die!

Tyler screamed, and kicked at her as hard as he could. His new sneakers connected with her jaw, redirecting her towards the glass table. He braced himself for her next attack, but she didn't get back up again. He maneuvered closer to her, ready for her to bounce back to life like a terrifying jack in the box, his clammy hands slipped slightly on the lamp pole keeping her dad and sister at bay. Turning his head for a quick glance, he saw that by some stroke of luck she'd managed to land face-first on the upturned corner of the coffee table. The sharp glass sunk deep into her skull. She lay as still as the grave, while a trickle of rancid smelling oily fluid leaked down her lips and off her chin, staining the carpet under her.

Head shots,
Tyler thought.
Why didn't I think of that before?

The crowd on the patio was growing. They'd begun to press their bodies against the glass, desperate to get in and join the hunt. Tyler knew what he needed to do. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he drove the lamp and Mr. Hendrix towards the closest wall. He let out an animal cry as he rammed the pole—still attached to the man—into the side of the living room, forcing the glass-edged pole deeper into his torn face. The man roared in anger, clawing at the metal pole until the harsh sound of fingernails on metal filled the room. His remaining daughter came running towards Tyler, but he was ready for her. He brought down the heavy base of the metal lamp on top of her head as hard as he could, knocking her to the ground. The force of the blow tore her small skull wide open. She writhed on the carpet, not fully dispatched, but unable to rise again and rejoin the attack.

Serves the little bitch right,
Tyler thought.

He redoubled his efforts to drive the lamp through Mr. Hendrix's face, but despite sinking the business end of the lighting fixture nearly half an inch into the man's right cheekbone, the monster still kept fighting.

“What's it gonna take to fucking kill you?”

In frustration Tyler yanked at the lamp, pulling the man closer to him in the process. He kicked Mr. Hendrix in his spare tire, giving the metal rod a solid tug, and managed to dislodge it. He couldn't believe his good luck, but he didn't waste any time celebrating. Using both hands, he whirled the lamp around and used the base to knock Mr. Hendrix to the soiled carpet. Even though he was wounded beyond comprehension, the reanimated corpse began to crawl towards Tyler, still unwilling to surrender. Tyler stood over him and, using both hands, drove the hard metal into the man's skull over and over, until he stopped moving. Tyler was panting and covered in sweat when he threw the lamp aside, but he knew he wasn't done yet.

I just need a quick minute to catch my breath,
he thought.

The sound of the living room glass exploding let him know he wasn't going to get it. Tyler sprang towards the front door like a jackrabbit on the run from a pack of wild predators. He threw the door open, and ran fast as his legs would carry him out into the street, praying that he wasn't headed straight into a herd of undead biters in the process. To his astonishment the street was relatively calm, with most of the walking dead headed towards the commotion in the backyard, and only a few spotted him. He didn't waste any time putting distance between himself and them. Pumping his legs as fast as he could go, he propelled himself like a rocket towards Emily's front door. In moments he was on the soft grass of her front lawn heading towards the big bright mat with the words “ALL ARE WELCOME” scrawled across the front.

Not today they're not,
Tyler thought.

The living room window was sprayed with blood from the inside, obscuring any potential view he had. The sight of it caused his stomach to clench up again, and fear to spike through his bloodstream.

What if she didn't make it?

He pushed the tiny voice from his head, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it open without hesitation. He stepped inside and slammed the door behind him, unconcerned about the attention that he might be bringing down on himself. He felt like a wild animal was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Sweat poured down the sides of his face. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, like a hammer coming down hard on sheet metal over and over again.

“EMILY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

He was halfway up the short set of stairs that led towards the living room when he heard her voice, soft like a whispered question with the words lilting upward in pitch at the end of the sentence.

“Tyler? Is that you?”

He rounded the banister at the top of the stairs to find her kneeling in a pool of blood. Her hands were trembling violently. She looked like she'd been crying for days. Her makeup streaked down her face like brushstrokes in an abstract painting. Just in front of her was the corpse of a man, minus the head, which had been blown clean off. There was a bloody shotgun resting in the puddle of filth matted into the carpet. In an instant it became clear to him what had happened.