Zombie Fallout 9 (19 page)

I looked around, pulled a large nail out of some rotten wood, and used it as a skewer. There was no way I was touching potential food the way I was. I hadn't taken a breath until the tenth pickled cuke touched down into my stomach. As I emptied the jar, I realized that I now had a viable solution to cleanse with. Sure, it smelled horrible, but vinegar was a powerful non-lethal astringent. I tipped the remaining contents, pickles and all, over the top of my head. The smell was horrendous. I did get a laugh, though, when a couple of the brined vegetables got stuck on various parts of me. Brought me back to what at the time I thought was a dark period in my life. I would go back to that just laid-off self in a heartbeat if it meant I got to avoid this time and place. Two jars later, I had gotten a fair amount of the soap off of me, though I'd traded one repellant for another.

“Just get most of it off, man, and then you can take a quick dip.” I was trying to soothe my neurotic half. Okay, neurotic two-thirds. Three-quarters?

A serial killer would have been repulsed by what I left on that floor. I looked better though, even if I had traded my scent away. I was fairly convinced that it had permeated my skin and I would smell like this forever. Would Tracy ever want to lie with someone who smelled like this? Wouldn't doubt if I sweated vinegar for the next few months.

“It's better, man. Right? It has to be.” I checked again for the tenth time, hoping maybe I had somehow glanced over a case of bottled water or something, then I headed upstairs. I was going to get my clothes, rifle, take a quick swim, get the damn truck, save my kids and wife in the vault, and then maybe drive out to the hot springs in Colorado, where I would see if I could melt off the top few layers of my skin. I'd gathered my things and had my hand on the door handle as I stared at the ocean and what I now considered clean water. Perspective is an amazing thing.

“Dammit.” Ten zombies were milling about at the shoreline, not doing much of anything really, just being a nuisance. I could take care of them from here, but the noise would bring others. That was assured. I would have to forgo the water. The litany of swears I spewed out as I dressed far surpassed that of those I'd said when I was popping my knuckles back into place. I was as mad as a pit bull with its balls stuck in a vise as I headed out the front door. I didn't stop mumbling swears until I saw the sign for the power company. The gate was closed and locked. Again, this was good and bad. Good because no zombies could get in; bad because no zombies could get out. I climbed over. It was as I was sitting atop in that precarious position that I saw them. Zombies had discovered me, probably not all that hard considering the scent of me was as potent as a skunk and half as appealing. They'd probably like me this way. My meat would preserve longer. I risked injury to flip them the bird before I went down the other side.

Twelve trucks were in that yard. Four were dead. This I knew after trying to turn the lights on, batteries having given out at some point. I had eight chances. Now I just needed to find some keys, and that meant going into the building. I'd been avoiding that because if there were any zombies here, that was the most likely place. As unattractive as I was feeling toward myself, I still had to go into combat mode as I approached the door. Rifle to my shoulder, my gaze fixed and focused looking for targets. I banged on that door like I was selling used vacuum cleaners, then stepped back to see if anyone would come to greet me. No one did, which I found just outright rude. The door was locked. I went over to the side, where some offices were. I grabbed a good-sized boulder and hurled it at the window, where it bounced back, nearly crashing into my shins.

“Stupid safety glass.” I was reluctant to shoot, but I wasn't going to keep messing around here. I'd already spent far too much time away from those who needed my help. The first shot left a nice hole about the diameter of the bullet I'd fired. “Perfect. Couple of hundred more shots, I'll make a hole big enough to fit through,” I said aloud. Two more shots…. The second didn't do much more damage than the first. The third, however, starred that glass from corner to corner. “That's what I'm talking about.” I grabbed the boulder again. This time, I was rewarded with the satisfying crash of glass breaking up into nearly a million pieces. Still no zombies coming to investigate. Didn't mean I was free and clear. They could have been stuck on other floors or in offices. Just as long as they weren't having an after-hours party in the key room on the night the zombies came, I should be all right. I waited a few extra minutes, just in case there was a slow zombie, then I climbed into the building, quickly coming up with my rifle at the ready.

“Three stories. Think, Mike. Where would they keep the keys?” There was a garage bay off to the side for maintenance. That was on my short list. I didn't think the boss would have something so mundane as key watch duty under his care but his receptionist would; odds were she ran the show anyway. “Okay, but the boss is most likely on the third floor. Probably don't want the help going up to the classy part. That leaves the front desk.” I was confident I had reasoned this out correctly. It really is mind-boggling when I use my brain. The things I can do. Maybe I was learning; maybe I could actually look before I leapt. I was feeling pretty damn good about myself. Then I ran into another cliché: pride cometh before the fall. I ran down a hallway to a large open area where a huge oak semi-circular counter dominated. This was the nerve center of the building, where all the communications, rosters, and most importantly, keys were housed. Of course they were in a small, steel case, but that was fine. What was not were the zombies staring back at me as I got behind her desk.

“You're shitting me, right?” They'd waited until I had made it inside. That was the only reason they'd not come to check out the noise. This getting smart shit was beginning to become unnerving. How much was it going to suck when they became smarter than me? Wouldn't be that long either. For hell's sake, I was in remedial English for much of my high school career. Then, when I let my reasoning catch up, I realized they weren't moving. Well, I mean they were moving, just not toward me. They were struggling against their bonds. Looked very much like electrical cable. Made sense considering where I was. But who had done this? Eight zombies were tied up. Tethered together, and to a large steel beam that was a support column for the building. I don't know who the person was that had wrangled them up, but I silently thanked him or her. At first, I had a hard time concentrating on the steel box. I was dividing my time looking up and to the zombies, where I was sure they were going to break free and rush my location.

If the box hadn't been bolted to the wall, I would have taken it with me outside where I could have busted it open. I could hear the rubber insulation of the wire squeak and squeal as the zombies rubbed against each other and strained against their constraints. Most of the time, their gaze was upon me, their arms upraised, their mouths open in silent screams of rage and desire. But every so often, they would turn to each other as if they were discussing something like a plan. Trying to open this box with them there was like trying to take a piss with someone watching. Sure, it could be done, but who the hell wants that kind of pressure? They got a little rambunctious when I started slamming the phone against the lock. I wasn't even watching where I was hitting when the phone shattered much like the window had. I ended up holding a jagged piece of plastic with some circuitry attached to it. I had not wanted to use my rifle, but I was running out of options. It was two bullets later when I noticed the receptionist's top drawer was slightly open and there was a key that looked like it would have easily fit into the lock.

“Yeah, Mike. Weren't you
just
talking about thinking before doing?” The repercussions had stirred the natives up something fierce. Two male zombies had dropped to their knees and were now gnawing on the heavy gauge wire that bound a female zombie, who apparently was in charge of this small troop. So they now had a pecking order. Well, wasn't that special? Still had to work at prying the box open, and of course, I'd damaged the thing enough that the key no longer worked. After a torn fingernail and two significant scratches and one tear deep enough to draw blood, I was staring at a panel of keys. For a brief second, I panicked, thinking that this just might be the receptionist's storage panel for some cherry granola bars or something equally as disgusting. Like maybe some of Tommy's Pop-Tarts. No one had quite experienced food until they'd had a mayonnaise-filled and cinnamon-topped pastry. That was easily one of the most disgusting things I'd ever tried. When he'd handed me a piece, it looked like some sort of vanilla-frosting filling and the cinnamon smelled pretty good. The combination of the wet tart mayo mixed with the spiciness of the cinnamon was one of the most disgusting melding of flavors I'd ever been exposed to. There are foods I hate: cherry, ham, green vegetables … those are all known. But I like mayo and I like cinnamon; however, the two together are horrendous, about as appealing as peanut butter and tuna. Two great tastes that suck ass together! It can't be normal to digress like this. Can it?

Seven sets of keys. I almost hate to admit this, but I was debating on which ones I needed to take. Hey! Don't fault me. I was stressed out and was feeling the time crunch to get back to my loved ones, and in the end I figured it out anyway. I took them all. I'm smart like that. I was feeling pride at my accomplishment, of figuring out my little conundrum, when I heard footfalls of someone (thing) rapidly approaching.

“Shit, I never knew the fall cometh so quick after the smugness.”

They'd worked together and had got through her bonds. My rifle strap was over my shoulder, and I had two handfuls of keys, not yet transferring them to my pockets. I let them fall to the ground. They hadn't yet hit the floor when she launched herself. Yup, this one was no dummy. She wasn't going to run into the desk like the vast majority of her brethren would have. She was going over it.

I ducked down as she went over. She had caught some serious air and launched right over me. Her right hand reached out and grabbed hold of my left ear. I thought she was going to rip the damn thing off. She didn't let go until her head hit the wall. I'd been bent back at a wholly unnatural angle before losing my balance and falling over. My head was next to her abdomen. Her hands reached for me even while I struggled to right myself. Getting the gun was out of the question. It had fallen off and was mostly under her. There was a screech emanating from her that I could just make out on the peripheries of my hearing range. If I had two guesses, one would be she was calling for back up, or two, she was wondering what wine would go with her upcoming meal. Her hands were desperately seeking purchase wherever they could land while she moved her torso to get her mouth into position.

Her face was gaunt, her cheeks sunken, her teeth rotten. It was clear to see she was starving. I just didn't want to be the one to cure her condition. Not sure why this group hadn't chosen stasis. Perhaps the bindings had something to do with it. Didn't really have the time at the moment to dwell on it. She landed a bite on to the bridge of my hat. She twisted her head back and forth, triumphantly thinking she was getting sustenance. It gave me the moment I needed, allowing me to get a leg into her mid-section. I pushed her along the floor and away. She was resilient if nothing else. She twisted, coming back again for the next round just as I reached behind me, getting my arm up on the desk so I could hurry myself along. I don't know if I had the Lords of Combat on my side or they were doing an experiment. My hand touched a tool I thought was long ago forgotten in this modern era. My hand closed on a letter opener. Maybe the average Joe had no use for one, but I'd imagine someone who had to open a hundred letters a day might appreciate the knife-like apparatus.

It must have been a gift. The metal itself seemed made of silver, and the handle was a burnished walnut or equally expensive wood and was also engraved. I'm sure that the person who got it would have appreciated a bonus or a gift card more. This was akin to getting your wife a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. Sure she might need one, but what the fuck, man. Do you never want to get laid again? Wow, serious departure from the subject at hand…. I brought the impromptu blade past my face and lodged it deeply into the zombie's cheek. I could see the glint of the blade through her open mouth. It was about as appealing as it sounds. It got worse when I skewered that little hanging thing in the back of her throat, you know, the thing that makes a normal person want to gag when you touch it? Not the zombie though, she didn't even flinch. I withdrew the blade and went to drive it deep into the side of her head, and may have succeeded if she hadn't thrown up her arm in a defensive gesture.

A large portion in the very heavy majority wanted to, almost needed to, forget the blood that ran through me. I knew I recovered better. I knew I ran faster. I knew I was stronger. I knew all those things on a fundamental level, though I did not acknowledge them. I didn't want to because of what it entailed. Because of all the negativity that surrounded these enhancements. Right now, this zombie had me in a precarious position. Her block of my strike had me falling over to the side with her coming down right on top, and I was in much need of help. I reached out with my mind, something I hadn't done in a long while, something I'd never wanted to do again. This made my genital glazing earlier feel like a sponge bath in natural spring water by comparison. The mind I touched was as black as her teeth and as fathomlessly evil as one without a soul could be. I would not turn that mirror on myself, not now, not ever.

There was a hesitation in her movements as she felt my presence. I didn't get the feeling it was one lone thought but more of a collective, like there was a vast committee in her head, all with one goal, with one purpose, but many entities trying to bring this about. And even as I formed a thought, I felt other presences in there as well … the same but different. I was seeing multiple views from the other zombies. Most were looking at the desk and desperately wanted to join in the feeding. Others, I saw them as they were chewing through their cables. She'd have help and soon.