Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor (4 page)

"I can't get the bleeding to stop," Dana said softly.  She looked pale.

"I'm sorry, Dana." Matty struggled.  "All of this fucked-up shit is my fault."

"I don't think you created the zombies, Matty."  She sounded weak; her words slurred and her eyes fluttered.  "It's not anyone's fault… this shit's just all fuhhhh…"

"Dana?" Matty reached back and nudged her leg.  "Dana!"  She didn't respond; her limp body rolled along the seat and fell on top of Joey. 

"Fuck me!" Matty rubbed his temple.  "I gotta find somewhere to hold up.  Think, moron, think!"  He ran through possibilities, trying to narrow down the ones farthest away from people.  The wagon made a racket, and he didn't think it would make the trip to Timmons. 

Six miles later, the answer presented itself on a brown sign with white lettering: "Pawranna Campgrounds, 7 miles".  As long as they didn't draw attention to the area, there should be plenty of space to avoid munchers—at least, that's what Matty hoped. 

If these fuckers are starving
, he thought,
they'd have already moved through sparsely populated areas like campgrounds
. 

He pushed the wagon as much as he dared; it shuddered violently, jarring his bones and numbing his ass.  Bits of broken glass bounced and shook on the front seat.

Reaching back, eyes on the road, Matty felt for Dana's pulse: she lived, but her skin felt cold and clammy.  He felt around and checked Joey's wrist: his heartbeat felt strong and even, but the gash on Joey's head looked swollen and angry.

Aside from a throbbing welt and bruises, Matty had no significant damage. 
How am I walking around unscathed?
  All the carnage, death, and gruesome injuries—from Mike's severed fingers to Kayla's mutilation—passed through his mind's eye.  He smiled. 
That just means there's something particularly nasty in store for you
. 

A gale of madman laughter broke from his lips and tears erupted, pouring over his filthy cheeks; he cackled and punched the dashboard, mumbling strings of gibberish and snippets of conversation from people he had watched die. 

"People got a funny way of dying around you!" He blurted out, gripping the wheel and gasping for air.  "What's the body count up to, Matty?"  Holding up fingers, Matty rattled off names of those who had died in his presence: "Kayla, Mike, Dan, JD, Kate, Alex—what's that, six already?"  He stared at the five raised fingers and the thumb on his opposite hand; he raised two more, marking eight people dead.  "Hank and Gigi make eight."

I should patch them up and then leave
.  He looked into the back seat. 
Nine and ten
, the thought popped in his head. 

His eyes flicked to the rearview.  "Nine," he said to his reflection.  "No one else but you, got it?" 

He looked away. 
Talking to yourself in the mirror—that's fucking great!
        

Twenty minutes later, the hobbling wagon turned onto a dirt road and weaved through the wooded lanes of Pawranna Campgrounds.  It was eerily quiet.  Matty contemplated going dark, but without headlights his luck was bound to land them in a lake or wrapped around a tree.

He drove far into the lightless forest—as far as the car would go—and stopped in a secluded campsite surrounded by thick undergrowth and densely packed evergreens.  Matty killed the engine; the wagon rattled and thumped before whimpering out.

Insects hummed all around and crooked beams of moonlight lanced between drifting branches.  Matty sat, gun in hand, and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel.  He waited for the groaning or cracking of branches; he barely breathed, expecting them to swarm the car.

There's always somebody here
, he thought; but he couldn't recall seeing any campers, tents, or fires while driving down the paths. 
Maybe you got lucky
.  He laughed aloud and leaned back in the seat. 
Yeah, okay!  It's only a matter of time
.

Matty flung the creaking door open and stepped out; the ground felt spongy, like a blanket of pine needles had built up over many years.  Wedged under the passenger seat, Matty found a warped coffee can, a squishy candy bar, a rusty pocketknife, and a condom wrapper.

He worked Joey and Dana into a sitting position, heads reclined on the seatbacks and legs stretched out.  Without first aid supplies, there was little he could do to help them. 

I have to find some water
, he thought.  Going near a lake with the possibility of bottom-feeding zombies wasn't high on his list, but neither was dehydration.  Most of the nearby brush was dry, and oodles of pine needles littered the clearing—fire wouldn't be a problem. 
A small fire, some clean water… maybe we'll walk out of here in decent shape
.      

Matty scooped up the coffee can and headed off, hesitating at the edge of the campsite, listening for any movement; he had the sickening fear of coming back to find Joey and Dana eaten by wandering munchers. 

It's dead quiet
.  He grinned and shook his head. 
Not funny, Matty
.  Stepping slowly and softly, he picked a way through the foliage, heading in the direction—from what he remembered—where Pawranna Lake should lie. 

It wasn't long before he heard the rhythmic splashing of water and smelled the aroma of washed earth.  Crouching behind a cluster of mossy rock, Matty stared at the lake and listened intently.  Satisfied with the silence, he crept to the shore and filled the coffee can.  He considering chugging it right there but the thought of what might be in that can-sized liquid ration made him cringe.

At least the container doubles as a pot
.  He carried the can back to the campsite and set it down on the hood of the car.  Dana had shifted and slid down the seat onto Joey's leg; she was snoring, and bead of drool hang from the corner of her mouth.

Matty gathered clusters of pine needles, twigs, and fallen branches; he set them in a teepee formation and surrounded the structure with a ring of stones.  Using the pocketknife and a chunk of gray flaky stone, he set to work lighting the tinder.

Thank god for survival shows.  He blew the smoldering ember until tongues of flame licked the standing sticks.  As it burned, Matty stacked more rocks around the fire, creating a wall to mute the light.

"How long was I out?" Joey's voice was groggy and slurred.  "Where are we?"

"Pawranna Campgrounds," Matty replied.  He helped Joey out of the wagon and onto the ground near the fire.  "My guess is you've been out for four or five hours, dude.  We hit a spike strip outside of Hatchet and Bad Betty crashed."

"I remember that." Joey rubbed his temples and sighed heavily.  "Where's all our shit?  Where's Hank and Gigi?"

Matty stared into the growing fire. 
How am I supposed to break this news?

"Matty?" Joey coughed; his face darkened.  "What happened?"

"They're gone, Joe.  There was a gang at Hatchet and they took everything.  Hank and Gigi didn't survive the crash."

"What?" Joey roared and leapt to his feet.  "Why the fuck didn't you do something?"

"You were out cold, man.  They were on us in seconds.  I woke up with a shotgun in my face."  Matty looked up at him.  "There was nothing to do."

"Bullshit!" Joey grabbed Matty by the collar and hauled him up.  "You were armed!  You let them die, you chickenshit!"

"Get it out now, Joe, but it won't change anything.  You're alive because of me." Matty tore free from Joey's grip and stepped back.  "I got us out of there in a piece of shit station wagon!  I carried your ass to the car and blasted through a horde of bodies."

Joey heaved and shook; his eyes flicked to the car.  "What happened to Dana?"

"They were shooting at us during the escape."  Matty pointed to his left shoulder.  "She took a grazing shot to the arm and a bite to the forearm; the zombies swarmed the car when we drove off.  A couple of them climbed in the busted windows."

Joey dashed to the wagon and pulled Dana out, cradling her in his arms.  "Did you take care of her wounds at least?"

"With what, Joe?" Matty waved his hand around the campsite.  "This is what we have left, dude.  She patched herself up on the drive out here."

Joey brushed the hair from Dana's face and stroked her cheek.  A faint sobbing sound choked out from his lips and his shoulders quivered.  "We shouldn't have left," he whispered.  "We would've had a chance there… now they're dead!"

Matty set the can of water near the cherry-red coals.  "But we're not, Joey.  Put their deaths on my account, if you need to—I can take it—but don't check out on us."

"I can't talk to you right now," Joey rasped.  "Leave me alone."

Matty nodded and turned away; he stepped behind a tree and pressed his back against the dry bark.  His eyes drifted to the sky; inky clouds scuttled in front of a waxing moon. 

I've seen too much carnage
, he thought.  He should be devastated—Hank and Gigi were surrogate parents, an ever-present force in his life for two decades; but any sense of loss felt subdued, drowned in an ocean of blood. 
I can take it because I can't feel it anymore
.  In truth, he'd gladly have traded his life for their life—or for Kayla's.

Joey's strangled sobs drifted to Matty's ears. 

I'd take it all if I could, Joe
.  He felt the weight of the .40 caliber hanging on his belt and struggled to come up with a reason why he shouldn't meet death right then. 
Why shouldn't any of us?  What's left to fight for?
  He hefted the pistol and caught the moonlight on the tarnished chrome. 

"What's the value of human life?" Matty whispered to the crickets.

He chuckled; it was a dark, macabre sound befitting a lunatic.

"Forty-four cents a bullet sounds about right." 

He pushed off the tree and headed toward the lake, hoping to find somewhere to bury the madness that clawed at the inside of his skull.

CHAPTER 4

"Are we still alive?" Dana sat up slowly, gripping Joey's arm for support. 

Matty poked at the fire and nodded.  "Yup, we're still breathing."  He passed over the can of still-steaming water.  "It's clean but it's hot: watch your tongue."

She slurped the water greedily, spilling some down her chin.  "Whoops!"  She laughed and then grimaced, clutching at the bandaged shoulder.  "I got really fucked up back there, didn't I?" 

"You might want to check that," Matty said, gesturing at her foream.  "The bite looked deep, but at least we know you're immune."

"Those fuckers bite hard, too." Dana removed the makeshift bandage and probed the puffy flesh with her pinky finger.  "Damn it.  It looks a little infected.  Who knows what that thing had in its mouth."

Joey cleared his throat.  "So what's the plan?  Do we continue to Garden Harbor or try to make it back to Wooneyville?"

What kind of question is that, Joe?
Matty bit his tongue. 
How the hell are we going to make it through a horde of zombies right now?

"We definitely can't go back, Joey," Dana said.  She tore a strip off the bottom of her shirt, dipped it in the hot water, and started washing her wounds.  "Matty said there were shitloads of zombies coming from—"

"Yeah, well we don't know that for sure, do we?" Joey interrupted. 

Dana glanced at Matty, a confused look brushed across her features.  "What are you talking about, Joe?  Why wouldn't we bel—"

"None of us saw it, did we?" Joey waved at Matty without looking.  "He was the only one there.  I'm just saying, maybe there weren't as many as he thought."

"First of all," Dana snapped, holding up a finger, "don't interrupt me again, because it's mad rude.  Second, when did you stop trusting your friends?"

"Whatever."  Joey stood and walked to the car; the hood was propped open.  "We aren't going anywhere in this piece of shit, so the first order of business is to find some wheels."

Dana stared wide-eyed at Joey and then shifted her gaze to Matty; he shrugged, stoking the fire with a blackened stick. 

"Double Brook isn't too far from here," Matty said.  "There's bound to be cars in the lots.  If we can get to one of them, I'm sure Joey can get it started."

"Yeah." Joey leaned over the engine and sighed.  "I can't believe my truck got fucked up.  I just pimped it out."

"Maybe we can find some food there." Dana stretched out by the fire; one hand massaged the side of a massive breast.  "I'm thinking about ditching this bra soon."

Matty chuckled.  "Then they'll be swinging wildly when you run—you might smack yourself in the face."

"I'll use 'em as weapons!"  She grabbed the underside of one breast and swung it up and down.  "It'd be like dropping a bowling ball on someone's head!"  She busted out laughing.

Joey stormed off through the woods, trampling the brush underfoot.

"He's worrying me," Matty said.  "I know losing Hank and Gigi hit him hard, but… I don't know what it is, but something else is wrong."

"He had a plan." Dana sighed.  "He spent so many hours thinking about what to do in case of a nuclear war, an asteroid crash, or zombies.  He's really pissed that all that planning hasn't worked out, and he's pissed about losing his parents."  She watched the flames and chewed her lower lip.  "I think he feels responsible for their death.  You know what happens when Joey feels terrible about something—everyone else is going to feel terrible, too."

Matty smiled.  "Like the time he dropped Gigi's birthday cake."

"Oh my god!" Dana clapped a hand to her mouth.  "I can't believe he threw cake at the wall and smashed the fuckin' ice cream!"

"Almost covered all of us in it, too.  It was a like wild gorilla set loose in a bake shop."

Dana bit her fist, trying not to laugh hysterically; tears bubbled up and streamed down her face.  "That was so fucked up!"

"And then two hours later he took everyone out to eat and paid for appetizers, meals, and deserts.  It turned out in our favor, at least."  Matty rubbed his stomach.  "Shit, I could use a cheeseburger right about now."