Zomb-Pocalypse (5 page)

“Let’s go,” Ryan says, once again taking the lead.

We follow him single file, creeping along. It is terrifying. When we come around the side of the house, we see four rotting corpses still huddled around the door. Their moans cover up our steps. Ryan doesn’t want to risk firing the gun and drawing more zombies that might surround and trap us. We are very exposed out here in the open, so he pulls the fire poker out of my hand instead. The rest of us stop as he moves forward and spikes the first zombie in the back of the head. Black sludge that should have been bright red blood goes flying out the back of the things skull, and it goes down like a sack of potatoes.

As a trio, the remaining zombies turn on him with a hungry look in their vacant, filmy white eyes. Their teeth snap as they advance. A scream bubbles up in my throat, but I hastily choke it back down. The thought that we could run for it while the zombies are distracted with Ryan flits through my mind, and I instantly hate myself.

Ryan pulls his arms back and forces the poker through the open mouth of the closest zombie. It snaps its ragged teeth on the metal pole, chipping them once last time before it goes down.

The remaining zombies are nearly on top of him now. Megan holds up her gun and tries to get a clear shot, but she shakes her head helplessly and tears begin to fall down her face. The zombies are now too close for Ryan to swing back enough to get the poker up. He’s lost precious seconds trying to get the poker out of the skull of the last zombie. He punches one of the zombies in the face and knocks him back a few steps. The second zombie lunges for his neck and Ryan ducks.

I can’t stand it anymore. I look around for a weapon and see my trusty nine iron in Abby’s hand. I pull it from her slack grip and charge into the fray. My brain screams at me to go back, but I ignore it as I wind up and swing the golf club for the fences. It bounces off the back of the zombie’s skull, but, unlike Ryan’s swings, the bastard doesn’t go down.

Chapter Four

The zombie turns on me with snapping teeth; the sound makes my blood run cold.  Being this close to it, I can smell the overwhelming odor of rotting flesh. It makes bile rise up my throat and into my mouth. The apocalypse only started yesterday. How are these bodies so rotten already? The random thought flips through my mind as the zombie starts coming after me with those terrifyingly slow shuffling steps. I hastily retreat a bit to give myself more space. I bring the golf club down again and again. My arm aches with the strain. Every time I hit its skull the impact reverberates up my arm. I pound away again and again, blood spraying off my club and hitting me in the face, until I crack a hole in its skull. The club squishes down into the zombie’s half-rotted brain. The zed staggers, misses a step, and falls squarely at my feet. It looks dead, but I jump back away from it—just in case.

With the numbers evened a bit, Ryan finishes putting down his zombie. He runs to me and holds me at arm’s length as his eyes rake up and down my body, looking for bites. “Are you okay?” he asks. He sounds winded.

“Yeah,” I say, before turning away from him and vomiting into the grass. His hand pats my back. It’s comforting, even though I kind of wish he wasn’t seeing this.

I turn back to him, and he uses a torn piece of his sleeve to wipe at the blood splattered across my forehead. Thankfully none of it got in my eyes or mouth.

“That was a really brave thing you did. You saved my life,” Ryan says.

I look down at the ground to avoid the intensity in his eyes. “Just another day in the zomb-pocalypse,” I mutter, blowing it off, but I know it was a huge deal. He would have been dead.

“We should probably get out of here,” Megan says, coming up behind us.

“Yeah, the noise will have attracted more,” Ryan agrees. He pulls me into a quick hug. “Thanks again,” he murmurs before heading off towards the ratty old pick-up truck.

I turn to the other two girls, my eyes pleading with them. They are staring after him too.

“Ryan…?” Abby surprises us all by calling out first.

Ryan turns and looks back at us.

“If you don’t have anywhere else to go, why don’t you come with us?”

Ryan grins and grabs his duffel bag out of the back of the truck.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He gives an exaggerated wipe of his brow, and the three of us burst out laughing. It isn’t even that funny. I think we’re all just strung out on too much adrenaline. We each grab a box of supplies out of the back of the truck and transfer them into the Suburban as fast as we can. The pickup looks like it’s on its last leg, and we don’t even consider trying to salvage it.

Megan climbs into the driver’s seat without even bothering to ask, and Abby climbs into the passenger seat, leaving me and Ryan to take the back.

“I won’t miss that place,” Ryan chimes in as we leave the house and twenty stinking corpses behind in a cloud of dust. All three of us girls agree wholeheartedly.

After the first few miles, Abby pulls out the map and consults it for a minute with Megan.

“So are you really just driving around aimlessly, or do you have a plan?” Ryan asks.

I meet Megan’s eye in the rear view mirror. After a minute of intense girl talk with our eyes, she nods.

“Abby has a remote cabin by a lake in Illinois. We’re going to try and head there. It’s pretty isolated.”

All three pairs of our eyes are on Ryan while he digests this information, I guess to see if we are crazy or if our idea actually has merit.

“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” Ryan endorses the idea.

Collectively, I think we all sigh in relief.

“We’re going to need to get gas soon, though,” Megan reminds us. The idea of confronting more of those nasty things anytime soon is daunting.

“There’s a small town about thirty miles from here, if we can make it that far?” Ryan leans forward to get a peek at the gas gauge.

“We still have just over a quarter tank,” Megan confirms.

Abby pulls out the map again.

“Right there,” Ryan points it out. It’s only a few miles off our path and we decide to go for it.

“Fingers crossed,” Megan mumbles as she floors it. The Suburban takes off like a shot.

“So where are you all from?” Ryan asks after a few minutes of silence elapse.

“Blairsville, Pennsylvania,” I tell him.

He nods. “I know the place. Was it pretty bad there?”

“If you mean, were people coming back from the dead and eating everyone?” Megan retorts with a snort, “Then yeah. It was really bad.”

Ryan looks like he’s sorry he started this conversation.

“What about you?” I ask, noticing an odd hesitation in his eyes.

“It was pretty bad where I was too,” he agrees. “I barely got out alive.”

“Where was that?” Abby asks.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that sees how uncomfortable he is.

“Here and there. I haven’t really had much of a home these last few years,” he says. By his tone, the subject seems kind of closed off. “Turn up here,” he reminds Megan and, just like that, the subject is dropped.

“Check the radio,” I remind them.

Abby switches the knobs; it’s just static again. Even though I wasn’t really expecting anything, our morale falls even lower.

“It’s been radio silence ever since the night this started,” Ryan says gravely. “It looks like they didn’t even have time to activate the emergency broadcasts.”

Abby flips the knob off in anger. “We didn’t even know anything was happening till yesterday morning,” she confirms.

I nod. I was probably the last of our group to know.

“I wonder what even happened,” Megan questions.

The rest of us shake our heads. It’s too difficult to even fathom.

“Probably the government,” Ryan mutters darkly.

I open my mouth to reply, but the gas station is suddenly visible up on our right.

It’s one of those service stations out on the highway—the best kind for our situation—far away from the actual town. Megan pulls in and we slowly circle the parking lot looking for threats. There’s nothing but a stray plastic bag blowing around the parking lot. Megan pulls up to the pump, but Ryan shakes his head.

“The electricity will be off. We’ll have to pump it directly out of the main tank underground.” Ryan is scanning the area. He points to a spot just a bit away from the pumps that’s covered by a man-hole looking cover.

Megan pulls up and puts the car in park. “I don’t understand how we’re going to get the gas out of the ground?” she shakes her head in confusion.

I have to admit that I don’t know either.

“I threw a hand pump in with my stuff back at that farm. We have to pry the lid up.”

Not for the first time, I feel like Ryan is a gift from God. If we hadn’t picked him up, we would never have known how to get gas without electricity. We would be walking right about now—the thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“Do you need any help?” I ask.

Ryan shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Why don’t you girls go and look for some extra gas cans in the store. Be careful though, and take Megan with you,” he warns.

I want to argue that I don’t want to go without him, but I guess that would be too needy. We just met this guy, and I can’t rely on him to hold our hand every minute of the day. Megan’s a good shot, I remind myself, and this place is pretty isolated. There aren’t even any vehicles in the parking lot.

 Megan is already checking her clip and reloading her gun. “It looks deserted,” she reiterates my own thoughts and I try and take comfort in that.

“Abby, will you stay and watch my back while I’m pulling this lid up?” Ryan asks.

Abby looks massively relieved that she doesn’t have to go inside the store.

We cautiously approach the gas station. It’s one of those convenience stores that have a mechanics garage attached to the side of it. We try the door and are surprised that it’s locked.

“This might be a good sign, maybe this place was closed when things started to go down,” I mutter as I wind my fire poker back and smash the glass. “If the store was closed when all this stuff happened, there is a good chance it’s empty of anything with a taste for flesh.”

Megan looks excited as well, though she brings her gun up and enters the store like she’s a TV cop clearing a room.

The interior looks normal, and the air smells like any other convenience store I’ve ever been in. Rows and rows of chips and candy bars stretch before us, and I have to fight down a surge of excitement.

“Please tell me that you’re thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.

Megan stuffs her gun into the band of her pants and smiles. We fill bags and bags up with chips, candy bars, beef jerky, warm pop of every flavor, peanuts, and anything else that strikes our fancy. When we’re loaded down with at least ten bags each, we head back to the suburban with large red gas cans in each hand.

Ryan’s gotten the cover off the underground reservoir and has a long rubber garden hose dipped into the tank. The other end of the hose is in the gas tank, and he’s pumping away furiously on a hand pump. We put our haul inside the back of the car and leave the gas cans out for Ryan to fill before going back to see what else we can find.

The store is a gold mine. I open up a warm Pepsi and take a long swallow while I flip through the magazine rack. Megan is rummaging behind the counter, pulling out packs of cigarettes and stuffing them in to her pockets and bra.

I give her a scandalized look. “I didn’t know you smoked,” I say, and I know my tone is a little judgy, but I can’t help it. She flashes me a grin.

“I don’t, but these will be in short supply soon and we can use them as currency if we come across more people.”

It’s a great idea I have to admit, so I throw a few packs into each pocket of my jeans and a bunch inside the front pocket of my hoodie.

“That’s enough gals,” a voice drawls from behind us.

We turn to find the creepiest-looking man we have ever seen. He is only about five-foot-four, a full three inches shorter than me, and his greasy hair falls well past his shoulders. He’s wearing a blood stained pair of mechanic’s coveralls with the name Billy Bob on the front, and he has a gun pointed right at Megan.

“Look mister, we don’t want any trouble,” I say, putting my hands up in surrender. The man’s eyes linger over my body in a way that I don’t like.

“Too bad, missy, trouble’s all I got,” he says in a sing song way before letting out a nasally guffaw of laughter at his own joke.  He motions with the gun towards a doorway at the back of the store. “Ladies first.”

I see Megan’s hand twitch towards her pistol, but the man catches the slight movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to glare at her. She changes her course, planting her hands on her hips instead.

“This is a terrible idea, we have friends outside,” Megan blurts out.

The man laughs in her face, “Ain’t no trouble to me, I’ll just kill that boy out there and have you three pretty girls all to myself.”

His hand grips Megan’s face, and he squeezes harder than is necessary.

Megan spit’s defiantly in his face, and he retaliates by slapping her hard enough to send her back a few steps. “You’re a feisty one, that’s a good thing. You’ll last a lot longer than the last one did.” He laugh’s gleefully, and I begin to hyperventilate.

We had been fools to think that zombies were the only thing left in this world that we needed to fear. The barrel of his rifle presses into my back, urging us through the door. The smell of grease and oil assault’s my nose the second we walk into the mechanics bay.

The first thing I see on the floor is a huge puddle of dried blood, and it doesn’t look like the dark, disgusting blood of a zombie either. I look over at Megan and see that she’s staring at it too.

“Don’t you two worry your pretty heads about that, it isn’t a problem anymore.” Billy Bob chuckles again, and I begin to realize that this guy is a psychopath.

“Go sit over there,” he motions to the oily floor as he grabs a handful of zip ties from the work bench. He ties our hands together behind our backs and then zip-ties our ankles too. The ties are so tight that they sting and burn against my flesh whenever I try to wiggle even a little bit.

He adds insult to injury by stuffing dirty rags into both of our mouths. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back after I deal with your friends,” he promise’s, patting Megan fondly on the top of the head. She jerks away, and he laughs again before practically skipping out the door.

We are tied together so tightly that I can barely feel my hands. I use my tongue to slowly work the cloth out of my mouth and spit it out on the floor. I can tell Megan is doing the same behind me. My mouth is dry and burns from the gasoline that must have been on the rag. “Oh God,” I moan.

Megan quickly shushes me. “We need to get over to that tool bench and get something to cut these ties off,” she says, taking command like she has so many times in the last two days.

I agree.

It is nearly impossible to move, bound together with our feet tied. Finally, we settle on inching along the floor, back to back. I feel like a fish flopping around on dry land.