Zombie Ever After (30 page)

They both had harnesses, separate from each other, but only Donovan had controls, the lines for steering and stopping.

“Quick,” he said, feeling pressure and doom. “We don’t have much time.”
 

The scraping and moaning of the undead climbing up the ladder assaulted their ears. Donovan searched around for something he might drop on the zombies—boiling oil would have been perfect, but this was the cleanest industrial rooftop he’d ever seen.

“You ready for your first paragliding lesson?” Donovan asked, smiling.

“Like I’ve got a choice?”
 

“Good. You’ll be the passenger with a front row seat. I’ll steer. But you will have to help with the takeoffs and landings.”

“Oh, boy, not again. After the demonstration of your abilities in that biplane, I’m not sure flying is your forte, baby,” Cathren said. Now she was the one smiling.

“Be that as it may,” he said. “I’m the only pilot we have. I think you’ll see things in a different light after this.”

“Maybe,” she said, chuckling.

“Well, I mean, if we don’t die first,” Donovan said.

“Is this the pep talk you give all your new students?” Cathren asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, it’s now or never,” Donovan said.

The first zombie appeared on the roof then, crawling like a lizard over hot desert rock.

This particular location, as it turned out, provided the perfect platform for takeoff. The building itself was asterisk-shaped. This meant that they would be able to sprint from one end of the star across to the other. They would be running, in effect, from the top left of a capital “X” to the lower right corner of the “X.”

The wind was strong, coming up from the southwest. Perfect conditions for lift-off and floating across the bay. If everything didn’t fall perfectly into place, however, they’d plummet to the ground, zombie food. (Though, with any luck at all, they’d die on impact.) They started out at an easy jog, aiming themselves at the north edge of the building. Then, with a leap of faith, jumped into the air, screaming at the top of their lungs.

What Donovan couldn’t see behind the now-ballooning paraglider, however, was the growing mob of zombies which had made it to the roof and were now shuffling towards them. The big, black tent Donovan and Cathren dragged behind them snapped and billowed like a pirate sail between them and their ghoulish attackers. The undead slashed at the sail with their hands, scraping a few lines into the material. One of the lines was bigger than the others, and deeper.

Regardless, Donovan and Cathren were off the roof, falling as fast as two heavy stones. Then, as if by magic, they were gliding. They dropped at least three or four stories after takeoff, but now they had caught a lucky updraft that lifted them back almost level with the building’s roof, and about ten yards out. The zombies, clustered at the edge of the building, groped and grabbed at the couple in a last ditch attempt to pull them in and devour them.

“Oh no. No, no, no!” Donovan yelled. The breeze, which had seconds before been their best friend, had now turned against them. Strapped to the Flying Fox, they drifted back closer and closer to the rooftop. Seven yards, four yards, ten feet.
 

Donovan felt something pluck his ankle. A zombie had him and was pulling him back to the roof. Soon another zombie joined in, and then another. Donovan and Cathren’s joy at escaping was short-lived as they were pulled slowly back to the roof.

The snarling and drooling of the zombies was audible now, above the wind. The growling became more distinct. Donovan could see their putrid faces, and he soon began to smell their rotten stench. Frantic, Donovan yanked his leg back. The zombies held on with unexpected strength. This was it, the end.
 

With his other foot, Donovan kicked at the creatures, knocking their heads back, cracking their teeth loose. The struggle continued as the couple was pulled to within inches of their destruction. Then, a strong updraft grabbed the paraglider, filling the wings and wrenching them from the clutches of the undead. They were free!

Donovan was ecstatic. Feeling better than he had in days, no make that weeks. Free of the zombies, of Egesa, of this whole fucking island.

Then, he noticed his ankle felt moist. Next the pain registered. His ankle was bleeding. He peered down at his bloody leg and, ten feet below, at the zombie who’d bit him. The mindless, undead creature seemed to be smiling triumphantly.

“Shit balls,” Donovan muttered.

A sudden breeze arrived, shooting Donovan and Cathren up and away. They soon drifted out to the bay, far from the ATELIC buildings, away from Treasure Island. They flew swiftly on the breeze and were happy about that.
 

After a few minutes, a strong thermal caught them, raising them up like twin Icaruses (Icari?), high above the bay, perhaps half a mile.

“My God, it’s so beautiful up here!” Cathren shouted to Donovan. The wind blew her hair back, and she looked stunning.

“Yes, breathtaking!” Donovan shouted back, but he was not talking about the view of the land below.

“It’s like we can fly!” Cathren said. “I feel like an angel, like I’ve died and gone to heaven!”
 

“Yes, me, too. I wish we could stay up here forever.”
 

They both laughed. Their spirits soared along with their bodies, hearts lifting with each thermal breeze. For the moment, Donovan completely forgot about the bloody bite on his ankle.
 

He gazed behind him to catch a final glance of the last of the ATELIC buildings going down in flames. Burning zombies toppled off the roof like fiery lemmings.
 

A final, massive explosion blew out all the windows and caused the ATELIC building to collapse in slow motion.

“We, we only just made it!” Cathren said, somewhat in shock. She was looking under her arm and around Donovan to watch the building fall.

“Yes, we got lucky this time,” Donovan said, watching the burning building send billows of black up into the dreary, drizzling sky.

After a moment of silence, Cathren said softly, “Where to, captain?”

They would need to glide more than five miles in tandem to get to the next island, not too great a distance, but the pilot and copilot were not at their peak physical condition. Still it should be doable. Failure meant they’d splash once again into the Frisco Bay, that icy cold cove of remorse. Or, just as bad, they might crash onto Alcatraz Island. There they would face certain death at the hands of the outraged Team Algonquin, both the living Indians and the undead. With no room for mistakes, either human or natural, they needed every breeze, every rising thermal, every ounce of luck they could get.
 

“One more island,” he replied to Cathren. “North across the bay. Maybe this time, it will be what we’ve both been looking for.”

They soared along, diving and swerving, feeling free and alive. From their vantage point, the world did not appear so terrible, so overrun with the undead and other disasters. As they floated, a couple of seagulls joined them, one on each side.

“Look!” Cathren said. “It’s us, but as seagulls.”
 

“Right,” Donovan chuckled. “Our ‘soul birds.’”
 

The birds stared at them and then swooped away, down toward the water and its promise of fishy delights. Donovan and Cathren were now at about the halfway point between Treasure Island and Alcatraz. Donovan hoped they’d travel well past Alcatraz before they came down from their natural high. But they lost altitude with each minute they stayed airborne, maybe two hundred feet a minute.
 

Donovan was at first at a loss as to why they were dropping at all, let alone at such a fast rate. He looked up and examined the sail. Everything appeared fine. And then he saw it, just along the trailing edge of the black sail, a long rip. He noticed other scratches and tinier rips. The zombies’ revenge.

Donovan guessed their elevation to be at about two thousand feet. In a few more minutes, they would be at fifteen hundred. Then at a thousand just a few minutes after that. He estimated their speed as being more or less ten knots. Looking at Angel Island in the distance and calculating their altitude, he wasn’t so sure now that they’d make it.

“Down below,” Donovan shouted. “Alcatraz.”
 

They watched as their shadow passed over the island of their former misery. Below, they spied creatures filled with anger: the undead Indians and their living relatives, looking up at Donovan and Cathren sailing by. Pallaton shook his fist up at them in anger.

Donovan wanted to taunt them, cast invectives their way, but he was superstitious. It wasn’t until they flew past Alcatraz and were well on their way to Angel Island that he felt safe to rejoice.

“We got past that all right,” he said. “Now, to get to Angel Island without any further mishaps.”

“Onward and upward!” Cathren said, laughing.

They sailed along, suddenly rising up higher on an unexpected thermal until they hovered above the poisonous fog blanketing parts of the city. The sky was blue up there, and full of hope. Below them and to the north sat Angel Island, somewhere in the gray.

Then the wings of the paraglider collapsed, like a flag on a pole when the air went still.

“What’s going on?” yelled Cathren.

“We have a rip!”

“What?”

“A tear in the cloth. A hole that’s letting the drafts blow right through us.”

 
“What do you need me to do?” Cathren said.

“Just hang on!” he said, pulling both B-lines together, trying to control their dive.

Within a minute or so, they had descended almost all the way to Angel Island. Far faster than Donovan would have liked, but slower than the brick they’d been when they first had started to fall.

“Get ready,” Donovan said. “We’re going to hit the ground hard!”
 

They crashed into the turf of a grassy hill and rolled along roughly, pulling the paraglider’s wings into them until they became wrapped in the cloth like caterpillars in a cocoon. In a few seconds, they had come to a complete stop.
 

They were silent for a moment, and then Cathren said, “We made it. We really made it!”
 

Donovan unbuckled and Cathren did the same and they fell into each other’s arms in the tent-like protection of the paraglider, kissing with love, desire, and relief. Then they fought their way out of the tarp and stared.

They had landed on paradise, on a stretch of brilliant green overlooking Ayala Cove.
 

“Well, you know the drill,” he said to Cathren, once they had separated and stood to gaze at the view. “Let’s go find out whether we’re alone on this island. If not, whether they are friendlies or zombies.”
 

“Or other,” Cathren said.

Donovan glanced down at the zombie wound on his ankle, but it was gone. It had healed so thoroughly it was as if it never happened.
 

“What?” Cathren said.

“It’s nothing. Let’s start hiking.”

They walked along and found quite a few houses, but not a single car. As before, no sign of the living. At long last, they made their way down to the waterfront, where they discovered a couple of small boats moored, but no sailors, workers, or visitors.
 

However, the resort area was a site for their sore eyes. Unlike those on Treasure Island, these buildings were much newer and remained in excellent condition.

They ran through the main building like lunatics, shouting and clapping and searching for other human beings, but with no luck.

“Hello—anyone here? Hello!”
 

It was a magnificent structure, with couches, chairs, tables, artwork, and a full working kitchen. They went back outside to explore more.

The island supported a variety of trees, many of them fruit trees. The poisoned air seemed to have been unable to affect the local flora at all. Cathren pulled a plum off a low branch and tasted it. It was juicy and fresh and she devoured the thing in seconds. She handed one to Donovan and he followed her lead. Between the two of them, they finished off six of the succulent fruits before continuing to explore.

Along the hills above the waterfront, they came across sheep and goats, along with a few horses. The animals grazed behind fences, looking content and well taken care of. If there were, in fact, no people on this island anymore, they must have disappeared in the past few days.

The main building of the island appeared to have been a small luxury hotel in a previous, and quite recent, life. Cathren and Donovan scoured the place, looking for anybody that could help them. After an hour or so, they’d settle for finding anybody at all. When they got back to the lobby, Cathren scampered around the front desk and positioned herself as the manager.

“Good morning, sir,” she said with a big smile. “May I help you?”
 

“Yes, I’d like a room, the best ya got, for me and my, my —”
 

“I understand, sir, not a problem.”
 

“No wait. I need your finest suite, your presidential thing,” he said. “Top of the hotel.”
 

“Well, sir, that’s only available to, shall we say, our most select guests.”
 

“Money is no object,” Donovan said. “In other words, I have no money.”

“Very good, sir.” Cathren typed on the keyboard for a few seconds. “Do you need help with your luggage?” she asked, without looking up.

“Nope, I’m good. Traveling light, you might say.”
 

“Excellent,” Cathren said, continuing to click away on the keyboard. She fiddled around with something behind the counter for a moment and then walked back around the desk. Giggling, she waved a gold and white key card by her face.

“Key to the Olympus Suite,” she said, laughing. “Just don’t expect room service.”
 

“In that case, let’s raid the kitchen first,” Donovan said.

They dashed through the restaurant holding hands, like two kids at Disneyland. They ducked into the kitchen at the back of the bistro and poked around. The pantry and the walk-in refrigerator were jammed with food and drink of all types. Donovan put some strawberries and chocolate on a plate, along with fresh slices of smoked turkey, baked ham, and chunks of Gouda, Muenster, and other cheeses.