Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville (2 page)

As he stepped onto the street, a scream broke the silence--a woman's scream.  She dashed out from the cover of an oak tree, just behind the park fence, and ran full-tilt into the chain-link.  They were chasing her: four blood-soaked, ragged figures appeared in the moonlight, closing in on the stunned woman.  She was sobbing, struggling to climb the fence.

"Run right, lady!" Joey yelled, pointing to the park entrance.  "Run to the gate!"  He fired two shots, destroying the padlocked chain around the gate poles, and sprinted to the entrance.

She let go of the fence and landed awkwardly: her ankle folding under the impact.  She stood up, ran a few steps, and fell.  "Please help me!"  She wailed, trying to run but unable to do more than hobble, one hand gripping the fence for support.  She glanced back and screamed again, the sound of pure panic.

Joey booted the gate, sending it careening against the interior fence, and ran towards the woman.  His lungs burned for air, tightening, and his legs started to weaken.  "No!"

Two of them, moving faster than the others, grabbed her sleeve and collar.  She spun, arms flailing and fists punching, but they bore her down.  Her terrified screams pierced Joey's heart; the sound of tearing flesh and hungry growling punctuated the woman's howling.

BANG! BANG!

Joey blasted the two still shambling from the trees, splitting their heads open, as he raced to the woman.  His boot struck the first behind the ear, sending the fiend flying against the fence; the other one let go of the woman, his mouth full of shredded human meat, and grabbed Joey's jeans. 

BOOM!

Joey blew the creature's head off, splattering blood and brains on the woman and the zombie sprawled against the fence.  The woman crawled away and Joey put a round into the last one, the body slid and bobbed along the chain-link.  He clicked on the mag-lite, searching the tree line, but didn't see any more of them.

"Oh God, he bit me!  Please!  My shoulder is burning!"  The woman cried, clutching at Joey's leg. 

He thought of the man in flannel, the way he turned into a zombie after having his guts eaten; he looked down at the woman, her shouldering oozing blood and a bite mark visible on her upper arm.

"Listen."  He knelt down, cupping her chin in his hand.  "You can't run and I can't carry you all the way to the hospital.  I'm gonna get you into one of these cars and you can drive to the hospital or I can call you an ambulance."

"No!  You can't leave me out here!  What if more of them come!"  She grabbed his shirt in both hands.  "I need to get to the hospital!  Please!"  As she begged, blood bubbled up and trickled down the side of her mouth.  Joey pushed her away, stepping back.

"Look lady, the truth is that you're sick.  You might become one of these things and I can't risk that.  My offer stands, take it or leave it."  He pointed to one of the abandoned cars.  "The keys are still in it."

She sobbed, letting herself fall to the ground.  Her sobs turned to violent coughs and her body trembled. 

Damn it.  She's done.
  Joey holstered his weapon and picked up the woman; already, her body felt limp and lifeless.  She was turning pale and the bite marks looked inflamed.  He kept the wounds away from his skin and deposited her in one of the cars. 

"Lady," Joey slapped her on the cheek, "I'm going to call an ambulance.  The keys are in the ignition." 

"Okay."  Her voice was far away.  Her head lolled side to side on the headrest.

Joey dialed 911 and got a busy signal.  He tried again and got a pre-recorded message about "all circuits busy" and clicked the phone off.  He checked the clip in his Glock: nine rounds left, and one more clip in a pouch on the holster.

This ain't good
, he thought. 
Twenty-five head shots, that's what I'm looking at… and how many more of these things between me and Dana?
  He put a hand on the roof of the car and the other hand drifted to his left hip pocket, pulling out a set of keys.  He fought with an idea, slamming his fist on the car. 
Damn it!  I have to do it.
  He stuffed the keys back in his pocket. 
Hang on, Dana.

He glanced into the car: the woman's head was on the steering wheel, blood dripping from her nose and mouth.  Joey grimaced; he thought of putting her down but decided against it.  Part of him didn't want to waste bullets. 
Maybe she's contained
, he hoped;
or maybe there will be a cure for her.
 

He turned away from the car and the park entrance, heading west--back into town.

CHAPTER
3

From the outside, the shop looked dark and quiet.  The red target sign swung lazily on the post; in the window, a lightless neon sign read "Bullseye Shooting". 

Joey crept to the front door, peering into the adjacent windows.  He clicked on the mag-lite and scoped out the interior--all was still.  Joey knew Paulie, his manager, was on vacation somewhere in Wisconsin.  Given the situation, Joey figured Paulie wouldn't mind an employee borrowing some stock.  He half expected to find one of the other employees inside, looting. 

SNIKT

The key slid in and turned with minimal fuss.  The door creaked as Joey pushed it open with his foot, flashlight and gun in hand.  He checked the storefront thoroughly before securing the front door.  The basement door was locked and Joey left it that way, for now. 

He went behind the counter, crouched down, and punched in the combination for the safe.  It beeped--louder than ever before, Joey thought--and opened.  He reached in and pulled out several boxes of 10mm jacked hollow-points, along with a bunch of empty clips.  Laying everything on the counter, Joey started loading up the magazines.

KA-THUNK

Joey froze.  It sounded like someone was downstairs.  The basement was full of reloading supplies, workbenches, and store inventory--Joey's suspicion of looters seemed more plausible.  When the sound didn't repeat, Joey finished loading the clips and stashed them in a black ammo pouch; he clipped the pouch to his belt.

Rounding the edge of the counter, Joey slid open a display case and retrieved a hefty jungle-style machete.  He freed it from the canvas sheath and gave it a few swings.

Hell yeah
.  He grinned. 
This'll do some damage
.  He slid the sheath through his belt and tightened the adjustments.  His eyes found the basement door and Joey concentrated, straining his ears for any noises--he didn't hear a thing. 

He grabbed a leather bandoleer from the apparel section and threaded two-dozen shotgun shells through the loops.  Reaching up above the rifle racks, Joey snagged a black 12 gauge Mossberg.  He dropped a slug in the chamber, cocked it open, and loaded up five more.  The final
ka-chik
gave him a rush.

The basement doorknob rattled.

Joey pushed the shotgun into his shoulder, taking aim at the door. 

THUD

Something hit the door--hard.  It kept hammering away, but the door didn't budge; Joey lowered the weapon.

Damn
. 
Whoever was down there ain't alive anymore
.  He shook his head in dismay--who was it?  Lenny?  Mike?  He didn't want to know.  Fully equipped and feeling confident, Joey turned away from the basement door, took two steps, and froze in mid-stride.

Flashlights shone through the front windows--at least three.  Joey stepped back behind the counter, ducking into the shadows. 

They tried the door; the lock rattled from the force of several blows.  A boot thudded against the heavy wood.  Some hushed voices… Joey couldn't make out what they were saying.

The basement door thudded; the knob spun back and forth.  The people outside must have heard it, because they fell silent and flashlights poked through the dark store.  Joey's hands were sweaty on the Mossberg; he swallowed and mopped spots of sweat from his forehead.

He heard wood cracking, groaning--they were forcing the door with a knife or crowbar. 

Shit
. 
I hope they ain't packin'
.  Joey rested the shotgun on the counter-top, taking aim at the center of the front door.  He made sure the Glock was loose in its holster and the machete was ready to rock.

The door gave way with a rending snap; fragments of wood broke free and bounced on the carpet. 

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD

Whatever was in the basement drummed incessantly.  All the flashlights fixed on the door.  Three silhouettes stood just outside the front entrance; they wielded crowbars, bats, and knives--no guns in sight. 

"There's one of them things in there," a guy said.  His voice wavered; he gulped and took a short step back. 

"Don't be a pussy, John."  A big guy stepped over the threshold, his lower stomach protruding over stone-washed jeans.  "One of 'em ain't no big deal."  He kept his flashlight on the basement, but his eyes scanned the rifle displays.  "I told ya this was the first place we should go--look at those AR15's!  Yeah, baby!"  He put the light down on the counter and reached over to grab the gun.

Damn!  I gotta get to Dana
.  Joey peered over the counter. 
I can't wait on these assholes
.  He moved into a crouch and got ready to stand.

John screamed; a zombie came around the doorway from the sidewalk and tackled him to the ground.  John's head smacked the stair with a sickening crunch.  The guy near him yelled, "Oh shit!" and hopped backwards into the store.  The big guy spun around with the unloaded rifle raised.

Dust and dirt filtered down the edges of the basement door as it thumped again.

The big guy rushed forward and brought the rifle butt down on the zombie's head.  When it didn't stop, he smashed it again and kicked the beast away.  John didn't move.

Another zombie, this one running pell-mell across the street, was attracted by the commotion.  It made straight for the front entrance of Bullseye.

"Get outta the way!"  Joey stood up and took aim.  The other guys dove to the sides as Joey pulled the trigger.

BA-BOOM!

All he heard was ringing; the smoke rose up to the ceiling. 
KA-CHIK
--Joey ejected the shell and locked another into place.  The dashing zombie lay in the street with its torso split open.  It gurgled and hissed, thrashing around and clawing its way towards the store.

"I'll deal with it," Joey said.  He walked around the counter and stepped over John's lifeless body.  The zombie that attacked John sprawled on the bottom stair, its brains oozing out.  Joey approached the zombie in the street; he unsheathed the machete and hewed its skull open. 

"Ah man, John's been bit!  Fran, he's bit!"  The lanky guy said, looking back to the fat guy still inside the store.  Fran stepped to the doorway, squinting at Joey.

"What the hell is in the basement?"  Fran said.

"I didn't check, big guy."  Joey cleaned the machete on the zombie's pant leg.  "Your buddy there," Joey nodded towards John, "is going to be one of them."

"John!  Damn, man!"  The other guy sat near John's body, letting out bursts of whimpers and sputterings.  "This is friggin' nuts!"

That's an understatement, kid
.  Joey loaded another shell, topping off the Mossberg.  "I'm outta here, fellas.  Take whatever guns you need."

"I planned on it."  Fran hauled the sobbing guy inside. 

Joey saw a few more zombies ambling drunkenly towards Bullseye. 

"You guys are gonna have company."  Joey gestured with the shotgun.  "Good luck."

He took off north, back to the park gates--this time with ample firepower.

CHAPTER 4

After the incident at the main gate, Joey opted to avoid entrances altogether.  He stayed to the western edge of the park and found a section of fence in disrepair.  Slinging the shotgun over a shoulder, Joey gripped the busted fence and yanked: a section came free from the post and he squeezed through.  As he let go, the edge of a link scraped his hand: blood ran freely over his palm and wrist.

Well isn't that dandy!
  He tore the sleeve from his tee shirt and wrapped the wound. 
Figures I forgot a fuckin' first aid kit!
 
Idiot
.

He had no idea if the zombies were attracted to blood--they definitely cued in on noise and lights.  Mossberg in hand, Joey crept through the shadows, keeping near tree cover and stopping periodically.  Several shapes moved among the playground, milling about in aimless circles.

The grass was moist, and Joey stayed clear of the cobbled paths to avoid footfalls.  Skirting the edge of the park, he came to the brink of a small pond.  Bugs hovered over the water, and small ripples broke the surface. 

Then he heard a loud
ka-plunk
, followed by thrashing and splashing.

On the opposite shore, a pair of zombies--teenagers by the look of them--dove through the water, grasping at the ripples.  They fell below the surface, rose up, and dove back in again.

Tell me they're fishing… that is too damn ridiculous
.  He started around the edge of the pond, making a line to north side fence, when the situation took a turn for the worse.

There weren't a lot of them--maybe a dozen or so--but they were spread across the area that Joey needed to get through.  He ducked behind an elm, glancing in every direction.  The east was clear--it was roundabout, but it was better than getting cornered.

He bolted from tree to tree, staying low and out of sight.  He crossed the center of the park, skirting the edge of a huge sandbox, when headlights flooded the area from the north.

A pick-up slammed into the fence, grinding two zombies into the grass, and crashed through the park, narrowly avoiding a cluster of birches.  A twenty-foot section of fence lay in ruin, and zombies chased after the speeding truck--more pored in through the opening.