Zomb-Pocalypse Page 6

  But, of course, Ryan shakes his head.

  “We can’t risk it getting out in the middle of the night and surprising us.”

  His words make sense. Yet, I also have the biggest urge to stomp my foot like a toddler and shout “But, I don’t wanna!”

  “We need to get comfortable handling these things,” he lectures.

  I want to be mad at Ryan, but he makes perfect sense. Once again, I realize how lucky we were to find him. I shudder to think what would have happened to us.

  I look at the large hunting knife clenched in his fist; Megan has her pistol drawn and held at the ready, just in case.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  Ryan sends me a small smile like he’s happy I’m on board.

  “I’ll try and knock it back with the door, just be ready in case something happens or there’s more than one of them in there.”

  I hold my golf club at the ready, though I really should find myself a better weapon since it took me about a hundred hits to put down the last zombie.

  The door is the kind that swings back into the room, which gives us a bit of an advantage. Ryan signals to us, and Megan and I back up several steps. Ryan turns the knob and hits the door open as hard as he can. We hear a thump and a groan as the zombie gets knocked backwards. It was probably standing there licking the door knob when Ryan threw it open. Ryan does a quick scan of the room before running in. I follow on his heels and see the zombie scrabbling on its back, trying desperately to get up. The random thought that it reminds me a bit of a turtle flits through my brain before I push the inappropriate thought to the back of my mind.

  Ryan plants his boot in the center of the zed’s chest and raises his knife, getting ready to swing down. He stops suddenly and looks at me. In the dim light that’s filtering in through the open window, I take an unconscious step back. It’s like we are connected through some sort of psychic link, and I already know what he’s going to say.

  “Jane…”

  My name has me lifting my eyes off the struggling corpse.

  “You need the practice. This is the best scenario we can hope for to figure this out.” His attention is on the struggling zombie that he is managing to pin down with his heavy work boots, but he’s holding the enormous blade out to me.

  I take a tentative step forward, then stop. Killing the zombie to save Ryan was one thing; I’m not sure I could do it again.

  “This is life and death, Jane,” Megan chimes in and I turn a glare on her—the traitor.

  It has already been made abundantly clear that Megan has no problem killing anything.

  “He’s already dead,” Megan encourages me.

  Still, I stand there, numb, unable to make a decision.

  “Every minute you waste thinking about this is a chance I could get bit standing here,” Ryan snaps and that spurs me into motion.

  I reach for the blade with trembling fingers.

  “Hold it so it’s comfortable for you,” Ryan instructs me as his warm fingers wrap around my icy ones. “You want to put the whole weight of your body into your swing, and aim for the head…the eye or somewhere that will be easy to hit, like the temple. You don’t have a lot of weight behind you, so you’ll have to go for the easier kills until I can teach you how to shoot.”

  I close my eyes for a minute and swallow down some of my fear.

  “Don’t shut your eyes!” Ryan yells at me, snapping me out of my mental preparations.

  The zombie’s bloodied hands and broken, chipped fingernails make wet scratching noises as he claws helplessly at the linoleum floor. I tell my mind to go blank. Then, with Ryan’s words echoing in my head, I swing hard.

  I’m aiming for his eye, but he moans and my aim gets thrown off. The knife embeds in his cheek, hitting bone as the blade loses its momentum. The zombie’s teeth snap dangerously close to my wrist, and pure adrenaline shoots through my body, giving me the strength to pull the knife from the zed’s tattered face.

  I aim more carefully this time, and the knife hits true. The noise of stabbing a human eyeball is terrible, and my hand is coated in black, sludgy blood. I begin shaking—maybe I never stopped—as the zombie gives its own final shake and stops moving permanently.

  I leave the knife in the zombie’s skull and turn to walk away. I’m sure I’m going to throw up again. As I huddle in the corner of the room, waiting for the familiar burn in my throat, it doesn’t come. I suck in deep, steadying breaths and oddly begin to feel my pulse hammer a little less.

  Good God, am I actually getting used to this crap? Ryan pulls his knife from the corpse and uses a pillowcase he found in the bedroom to wipe the gore off.

  Ryan gives me a nod and I respond with a sickly smile.

  “Happy now?” I ask, and he frowns.

  “I didn’t make you do that to be mean, Jane. Nothing about this situation makes me happy, but I want you to be able to survive.” Ryan looks pissed off at me.

  I deflate even more, if that’s possible. I think about saying sorry, but he’s already moved away from me, and the snub hurts.

  “Let’s clear the rest of the house,” he barks the orders and motions for Megan to follow him.

  Neither of them wait to see if I follow, but of course I do. I’m too chicken to be alone.

  We move through the house, silent as wraiths, following the beam of the flashlight. It’s pretty much pitch black now, and I’m kicking myself that we didn’t stop sooner. All of the rooms are clear upstairs, so we move back downstairs. Ryan points to a door we haven’t opened yet, and we all stand frozen outside listening. Ryan opens the door with his knife at the ready, and all three of us brace ourselves as the unmistakable smell of death hits us. We wait in the threshold while Ryan swings his light back and forth. It’s a garage with a car inside, but nothing runs out to attack us.

  “Be careful,” Ryan whispers as he moves deeper into the room.

  It feels like the beginning of every horror movie I have ever seen. I want to yell out, “Don’t go in the garage!” But Ryan and Megan already think I’m the weakest link, so I keep my mouth shut.

  Ryan scans the room with his light, and it’s just bare walls and a few paint cans. Next, he gets down on his knees and does a sweep under the car.

  Something catches my eye. I look inside the car and let out an involuntary squeak. There’s a body sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Ryan swings around to look at me, and I point to the car. He shines the light inside, illuminating the corpse; this one appearing to be dead for real.

  It’s an older woman. If I had to guess, I would say the man we just killed in the bedroom was her husband. Ryan shines the light back to the tailpipe, and there’s a green garden hose sticking out of it that loops back into the window.

  “She killed herself.” Megan says, making me jump. Her voice sounds overly loud inside the small garage.

  “The house is clear,” Ryan says, turning away dispassionately.

  If I hadn’t seen his face at that exact moment, I would have thought none of this bothered him.

  “Let’s go get Abby, cover the windows, and search for useable supplies,” he suggests.

  We are surprisingly efficient as we move through the kitchen, pilfering canned goods to add to our slowly growing pile. Ryan and Abby tape black garbage bags over the windows to keep the light of the flashlights from getting out while Megan and I pull together a semi-decent dinner of salty spam on crackers with canned peaches. We eat in silence and wash it down with warm pop that we found in the fridge. Ryan finds a beer and pops the top, taking a long swallow. I stare at him from underneath my eyelashes, wondering if he is old enough to drink it legally—not that it matters anymore.

  Upstairs, we tape more bags over the windows and settle into the master bedroom. There is a king-sized bed that we decide to share to keep warm. There are some candles next to the bed. Megan walks over and lights them up. In an instant, the room is illuminated in a soft glow. Abby sits on the bed while Ryan
claim’s the chair. I go into the bathroom to wash my hands and face. I take one of the flashlights with me and stare at myself in the mirror. I look the same, but also completely different.

  I wash my hands first and then my face, staring longingly at the large jet tub. I pull my toothbrush out of my bag and give my teeth a good, hard scrubbing. They were starting to feel fuzzy, and I am a little disgusted with myself. Next, I rub on half a tube of deodorant and comb the tangles and gore out of my hair. I find a small bone chip and cringe; the old Jane would have thrown up. I decide that cold water be damned, I am washing my hair.

  There is shampoo sitting on the edge of the tub. I run some ice cold water, just enough to dip my head in. I nearly get brain freeze, but grit my teeth to get through it. I go to drain the water and I see that it’s stained pink, which makes me doubly glad that I forced myself to tough it out. I towel my hair semi-dry before throwing it up in a ponytail.

  When I leave the bathroom, bag in hand, everyone glances up at me for a minute before going back to what they’d been doing. Abby bounces off the bed and claims the bathroom next, Ryan looks back down at the book he had been reading, and Megan goes back to rummaging through the closet.

  I walk over to see what Megan’s up to.

  “Find anything good?” I ask her.

  She nods. “A few things, they aren’t really my style, but they’re clean and dry.” She’s surrounded by piles of stuff.

  I pull a pair of jeans from a hanger. They are mom jeans, but they aren’t covered in guts like my own stylish designer pair.

  “Mind if I take these?” I ask.

  She nods her permission. “Sure. Take some of these socks too,” She instructs and hands me five clean pairs.

  I smile as I tuck them into my backpack before ducking into the closet to shimmy out of my old jeans and put the new ones on. They are a little big, but they stay up alright. I stand for a minute, debating what to do with my old jeans before throwing them down on the ground and leaving them. There isn’t any electricity, and I doubt I would be able to get the zombie guts out of them anyway. I decide to wear these mom jeans until we get to the safety of the cabin, then I will risk wearing the last two pairs of good jeans in my backpack.

  I lie down on the bed and stare at Ryan beneath my lashes until I pass out a few minutes later.

  I am exhausted despite the trauma of the last three days, but mostly because of it. There were times when I thought I would never be able to sleep again, obviously, that would be physically impossible though. I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, and I send off a quick prayer that I will still be alive when I wake up in the morning.

  I am running through a field filled with green grass. Suddenly, my Mom and Dad are running beside me. “Come on Janey.” My Dad calls out as he grabs my hand and pulls me along faster. I look behind us and see that there are zombies closing in. One putrid, rotting hand reaches out and snags in my hair. I collapse on the ground, screaming. I turn to my Dad to tell him to keep running, but then I’m not holding my Daddy’s hand anymore. The leering face of Billy Bob from the gas station hovers over top of me. I let out a scream of terror and try to back away from him, but I can feel his arms around me like twin steel bands. Panic takes over and I begin fighting.

  “Jane…Jane!”

  I open my eyes. I’m sweating bullets and sitting upright in bed, panting. I look over and see Ryan sitting beside me with his arm wrapped protectively around me, and I wonder if it wasn’t his arms I was feeling in my dream.

  “I saw them,” I mutter, probably sounding like a crazy person.

  Ryan grabs hold of my hand and his touch is comforting.

  “Who did you see?” He asks, his thumb stroking over my palm.

  “My parents,” I manage to get out before I burst into tears.

  Ryan pulls me back into his arms and lays back down, holding me gently while I sob into his neck.

  “It was a nightmare,” He murmurs softly. His hand is stroking my hair.

  Despite the tears, I yawn.

  “You were thrashing around and crying in your sleep.”

  His voice is so low and melodic that the rumble is putting me back to sleep. I’m exhausted and strung out and, suddenly, I just let it all go and give in to the overwhelming exhaustion.

  I wake up warm and still wrapped up in Ryan’s arms. Everyone else is still sleeping, and I try to shrug out of his embrace. I’m embarrassed about the night before, but when I try and move his arms, they flex and hold on tighter. I glance up to find him looking down at me intently.

  “Are you all right?” He asks in concern, his voice is all rumbly and deep from sleep.

  My mouth goes dry, but I manage a quiet, “Yeah.”

  He slowly releases me so I can sit up and crawl down the bed.

  Abby is pressed up against me with Megan on her other side. Despite the nightmare that I can still remember vividly, I slept pretty well. I grab a bottle of water off the dresser and take a long drink. Everyone else is starting to wake up too. Ryan stands up and stretches, disappearing into the bathroom for a minute before coming back dressed in new clothing—black jeans that seem to fit him a little better and a red checkered shirt that reminds me of a lumberjack. He stands near me and peeks out between the garbage bags that cover the window.

  “Looks clear, but we won’t know for sure until we check all sides of the house,” he says, sounding vaguely hopeful.

  We eat dry cereal in handfuls straight from the box, and I chew slowly to savor it. This might be the last time I get a chance to eat Corn Pops.

  We gather up all the gear we found and pack it into bags and boxes by the door, ready to quickly move it into the suburban. Ryan tosses around the idea of pulling the car into the garage, but we all shoot it down. If we each take a box of canned goods and clothing, then we will be done. Ryan walks around the entire house and looks out each window.

  “It seems clear,” He says again.

  For a minute, I worry that he is trying to convince himself as much as he is us. We all face the front door; our plan is to make sure the farmyard is really zombie-free and then haul asses to move the boxes.

  “Here goes nothing,” Ryan says as he swings the front door open. I grip my golf club in my hand so hard that my knuckles turn white. The door opens wide, and we all gasp. Ryan takes a step closer. We huddle in behind him to look for ourselves.

  “Is it a zombie?” Abby asks.

  Ryan shakes his head, looking perplexed. “I don’t think so,” he says, reaching his booted foot out for a poke.

  I stare down at the sweaty, pale mess passed out on the door step. My eyes move to the limp, dead bundle of feathers that he’s holding under one arm.”

  “What’s he doing with that chicken?” Megan asks the question that we are all wondering.

  Chapter Six

  We huddle around the guy, not sure what to do. He’s out cold and he doesn’t look very healthy at all. A moan sends a chill down my spine, interrupting the quiet of the morning. At first, I think it’s coming from the guy on the step. Megan obviously does too, because she raises her gun quickly and aims it at his head. Ryan pushes the barrel away and points across the yard. We follow his line of sight and see that a zombie has gotten himself tangled up in the barb wire fence.

  “It looks like there’s just the one,” Megan says, readjusting her aim.

  “You’ll attract more of them if you fire that gun.”

  I nod emphatically, agreeing with Ryan before I realize, with a start, that Ryan didn’t say it. I look down at my feet and see that the guy is awake. His skin is blanched white, and there’s a thin sheen of perspiration running down his face, but his bloodshot eyes seem alert.

  All four of us take a giant step away from him, just in case. The zombie across the yard moans again, as if he wants all the attention for himself.

  “Do you want me to take care of him?” I ask, surprising myself.

  Ryan and Megan look surprised too.

  “
Are you sure you can handle it?” Megan asks skeptically, and I shoot her an annoyed look.

  “I don’t really have much choice these days do I?” I huff, grabbing the knife from Ryan’s outstretched hand. I turn and trudge towards the zombie. My heart is hammering like mad in my chest, but I don’t dare let my steps falter with Megan watching.

  The closer I get, the more excited the moans of the zed seem to become. He is apparently thrilled that dinner has decided to come to him. I gag a bit as the rancid smell of his decomposing body hits me when I get within ten feet of him. The zombie is straining against the fence, trying to get free, but he’s held in place by his snagged clothing and skin. I wince when I see the barbs dug deeply along his torso, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. The zed is much taller than I thought he would be, and I’m starting to wonder exactly how I’m going to be able to spike him in the head. He’s a good foot and a half taller than me. His arms are reaching out for me, waving around like crazy.

  I hear his shirt rip and the sound makes me jump. The zombie is in a frenzy now, pulling and straining. I know that I don’t have a lot of time. He could get free. It doesn’t seem likely, but since they don’t seem to feel any pain, there isn’t much stopping him from ripping himself in half to get to me. Black sludge is oozing from the ragged holes that have been torn in his skin by the wire, and I have to look away. I step closer and duck as one of his massive arms flail right at my head. I step back and look at the zombie again; there is no way I can get close enough to use the knife. I’m really regretting volunteering for this now. I was being a show off for Ryan, wanting to impress him. I know this now, and I hate myself for it.

  I look around to see what else I can use, and my eye catches on a rusted old axe leaning against the side of the barn. I jog over, and the zombie starts making a ruckus because I’m getting away. The axe is heavier than I thought it would be. I heft it up over my shoulder, like a lumberjack, not bothering to look behind me at Ryan or Megan. I’m sure Megan has a smirk on her face.

  I know that I could give up and admit defeat, Ryan would come over and knife this zed in the head till it’s dead…great, now I’m rhyming. I shake my head to clear my idiotic thoughts. I forcefully shut my annoying, inner monologue off and focus on the zombie problem. I’m not sure how I became a person who volunteers to kill something, much less something that used to be a living, breathing person, but I don’t want to examine it too closely.