Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel (11 page)

“That definitely makes me question the rescue station idea,” Chris said under his breath.

“I don’t mean to rain on the parade, but can we please continue this little chat elsewhere?” Steve pointed at the dead child on the floor in the center of the room. “That’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Yeah, we’re burning daylight anyway. And the longer we sit around, the more of those things that are going to show up out front.” Although Chris felt peaceful with Stephanie in his arms, he let her go. “Let’s load up and worry about getting gas in the car first. We can formulate a plan as we go.”

“I like your thinkin’, son.” Brady smiled.

“My name is Chris Commons.” He reached out and shook Brady’s hand. “And this is Steve and Stephanie. I take it your name is Nan?” He reached out to shake her hand also.

She nodded, her palms sweaty.

“Now that we’re all buddy-buddy, let’s get the hell outta Dodge, yo. I’m starving,” Steve snorted. 

Nan and Brady both glanced at one another with some type of unspoken agreement.

“Let me grab a thing or two and we’re set,” Brady said, slinging the large black duffle bag onto the bed. Its contents clinked as it bounced on the bed.

“What the hell you got in there?” Steve asked.

“Guns! And lots of ammo to go with ‘em!” Brady grinned with satisfaction, unzipped the duffle bag and retrieved a clip. He changed the magazine in his handgun and then holstered it at the hip. Flinging the heavy bag around his shoulder, he stepped next to Steve by the door and grabbed his rifle.

“What about me, dude? I don’t get a gun?” Steve disapprovingly waved his blood dried and red covered bat. “This thing’s a joke, Rambo!”

Brady laughed at Steve’s use of the reference. “I ain’t no Rambo, boy. I’m just a gun enthusiast. This is Texas.”

“You’ll have to excuse them. They’re not from around here,” Stephanie frowned.

“Tennessee,” Chris informed with a smile.

“A Yankee?” Eyeing Nan for consent, Brady reluctantly took the bag off, retrieving a small handgun much like the one he had holstered to his hip. “I assume you can figure out how to use this thing,” he said, handing the gun to Steve. “You sure are a strange lookin’ fella. Are those women’s pants you’re wearin’?” Brady shook his head, handing over a clip as well.

“Hells effing yeah!” Steve grinned with appreciation at the gun.

“That there is an HK-P30 semi-automatic pistol, 9mm. I got me the chrome edition. Came out just this last year,” Brady said, patting down his holstered gun. The silver shined against the light coming in through the bedroom window. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have some ammunition for this one, would you?” Chris asked. “I’m about out, I think.”

“What you packin’?” Brady reached out, taking Chris’ handgun. “The MP357 Auto, Smith and Wesson. Not the best weapon, but a reliable one. You’re in luck son. It ain’t quite the same as this one, but they do take the same bullets.” He reached into the bag and pulled out another handgun. “The fancy dancin’ P2000 SK 9mm. Just feels natural you know,” he said, bouncing the gun in his hand. “Here, just trade this one for right now and we’ll swap ‘em out later.”

Chris nodded his understanding and his thanks.

“Seriously now, that’s my oldest and sweetest handgun. It’d be a shame to see her come up missin’.” Brady zipped up the pack and slung it over his shoulder once more.

“What about her?” Steve asked, pointing at Nan.

“Oh, I don’t trust them guns, dear. Too afraid I’ll shoot my own toe off. Brady’s the hunter. Not me. I just tag along and keep the boys fed while they’re killing the deer or what have you.” She tried forcing out a smile.

Chris looked her over. Her bright yellow sundress was soaked in blood from the middle of her chest down, as if something awful had fallen on her while bleeding out. She was past her middle years, around fifty, but still looked spry and youthful. Her mouth had deep lines and she had rather deep crow’s feet where years of smiles had left their mark.

In a stark contrast, Brady was relatively clean. The way he moved with the pistol on his hip was so practiced that, had he not had it, he would have seemed incomplete.
This is Texas
, Chris thought, shrugging to himself after sizing the older couple up.

It was then that Chris noticed the photos on the bedroom walls. They were all pictures of Brady and Nan decked out in camouflage. Various photos of Brady holding up a deer, fish, or ducks hung along each wall. He was smiling ear to ear in each picture. Unlike Brady’s kill photos, each picture of Nan was of her holding a cup of coffee or making sandwiches. Although Chris had initially thought of the gas station raiders, he smiled at the photos, feeling himself warming to the older couple. 

“At least take this, then. I know I would feel better about you having my bat with you.” Steve handed Nan the dented and stained bat. 

With little Timmy’s dead cold body left to rot, they exited the room, after only a few more small remarks regarding the weapons. At least the child woundn’t be waking back up any time soon. At this point, Chris was overly reassured to know that it had been well worth the risk of helping Brady and Nan Bingham get down from the roof. At least now, they had some real weapons and someone who knew what the hell they were doing. He had just met Brady and he was already impressed by his skilled marksmanship. Thus far, all three shots that he had fired were direct and had in turn saved both him and Steve. Having Brady around was definitely going to make things easier. If not that, then at least it would be a bit more tolerable. However, Chris was not totally sure about Nan just yet. She reminded him of his grandmother and as much as he missed here, may she rest in peace, it was kind of creepy to see the resemblance in not only their looks, but the similarities in demeanor as well.

Then there was the still unanswered question of what drew the dead to the Bingham house to begin with. Obviously, it was noise related. That much was obvious.  

The hallway was a mess. The two unmoving corpses on the floor filled the room with a familiar rancid stench. The metallic smell of blood filled the hall.

“Oh my,” Nan said from the back of the line as they passed through the hall.

With Brady in the lead, they moved down the hall and through the living room. A light breeze from a set of busted windows in the kitchen filled the room. Brady confirmed that by pointing it out. “That’s where they got in before.”

With the door to the front yard partially open, Chris could see figures walking toward them out on the grass. The faint groan of their mournful call reached his ears, confirming them as non-friendly visitors. Then, the first of numerous undead creatures shambled into the room through the front door. With snarling, gnashing teeth and raised arms, it cried out. Its pace quickened upon sighting its prey. It knocked into a tall lamp sending it to the ground. The bulb busted with a sudden pop as the lamp crashed to the floor. Before the creature could draw any closer, its head violently jerked backward with a spray of blood. Brady lowered his gun. Chris’ ears started to ring.

“It’s all or nothin’, ya’ll!” Brady stepped over the fallen creature, pulling the front door open all the way.

Simultaneously, over a dozen zombies, who were in the immediate vicinity, picked up their pace, excitement growing in their wide and eager eyes. Staggering from around the car out in the street, from in the Bingham’s yard, and from the driveway, the dead steadily closed the gap. Off in the distance, the once raging volcano of water from the broken fire hydrant now ran low. However, it was still enough to spill into the street and it soaked the road. Beyond that, Chris could see exactly what he had feared. A large number of the dead were gathered together, working their way up the street toward the house. Recognizing some of the corpses, Chris knew that it was none other than one of the first groups they had lured away from the house. That made Chris uneasy. Feeling a little lightheaded, he knew that the other groups would be close behind. And with the row of houses and the car being at the back of a dead end street, there was no other way out, except straight through that growing mob.     

“Oh, my word!” Nan frantically pointed out toward the end of the street at the growing horde.

“Can’t be more than thirty of them,” Chris shouted between the gunfire.  He lifted his new handgun, and pulled the trigger, hitting a ghoul in the chest. “We can make it.” He fired again, hitting the same creature just below the nose, eradicating the zombie’s head. “I’m driving!”

“Fucking die, you commie bastards!” Steve came up behind Chris, firing wildly. His shots went wide, never even coming close to the same zombie twice.

“Control your fire, boy! Conservation is the key!” Brady stepped toward the car, aiming at the last ghoul that Steve had shot at. With precision and trained accuracy, the shot found its mark and the zombie fell to the ground. “What we waitin’ on? Get in! Get in!” Covering everyone else with fire, as they frantically climbed into the small vehicle, Brady effectively kept the monstrous beasts at bay. Even though he was doing well, there were too many, and they still steadily kept getting closer and closer. With four more shots and four more undead down for the count, Brady climbed into the passenger side’s front seat. “Go, go, go!” He shouted.

Just as Chris pulled out the keys and cranked the engine, two zombies collided with the hood, beating it repeatedly in an attempt to get in. Without further hesitation, Chris stomped on the accelerator, ramming past the two creatures.

“Now, we just need to get some gas and figure out where the hell we’re headed,” Chris breathed.

No one said a thing. They all just gripped tightly to the seats and held on to each other. The car raced forward into the oncoming mob of zombies near the end of the street. The car jolted suddenly, crushing an undead woman at full speed. Just as soon as she disappeared under the hood of the car, the vehicle was overrun rather quickly by the sheer mass of the living dead. A sight that at this point was all too familiar.

Chapter Six

“I’m so sorry about your son,” Stephanie started to say.

“No, dear. Timmy wasn’t ours,” Nan said, gesturing at Brady and herself. “He was one of the neighbor’s kids. He always stayed with us though. Brady and I, we never had any kids of our own. As devastating as it was to see that poor boy go, I’m at peace with it, you know. I guess I just fancy the idea that he was set free,” she sighed. “Not having to suffer through this God awful mess the world seems to have gotten into overnight. Just ain’t right.” Her eyes swelled with tears, but she wiped them away on her jacket before the floods began to come. “It’s just better off this way for him. Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked Stephanie.

Doing her best to sidestep the question, yet stay on topic, Stephanie asked, “So, what did Timmy’s parents do exactly?” Her eyes drifted to the passing scenery, while the car was steadily moving down the road.

“I don’t actually know. They both worked late afternoons. I know that much,” Nan replied. “Brady and I didn’t talk with his parents much. Like I said, they were hardly ever home.”

“That’s crazy, because I have lived next to you guys my entire life and all this time I totally thought he was your kid. Sure, in my opinion, he was a bit young for you, but whatever. Like you said, he was always over there. Hell, he even resembled you in a way. Well, either way, I’m really sorry about it.” Cramped in the backseat between Steven and Nan, Stephanie quietly tinkered with the hunting rifle on her lap.

With Chris feeling it best to stick to the back streets, the light pink Hyundai Accent was working its way toward the nearest service station. Brady had recommended one that was close by, yet off the beaten path. Fuel was lower than low and Chris gripped the wheel as they rolled along, hoping like hell that the car would make it the few extra miles. Around them, as the car drove along, the undead threat was ever present. There was no telling how many people were actually left alive. It was like one big ghost town. A few buildings were still on fire from last night, although the flames had settled down to small ones. Ashy smoke and soot danced in the wind over what remained of the tattered stores and homes. A large work van looked as if it had driven full speed into a set of buildings. The white cargo van stuck half way out a busted storefront with drywall and debris caked to its sides. A lifeless dead man stumbled out of the store, blood covered and mangled. As his arms rose to meet the passing car, Chris noticed that the guy’s orange locksmith hat matched the logo stenciled on the side of the demolished van.

That wasn’t the only wreckage they passed. A fire truck lay on its side with the overhead ladder fully extended. Chris had to drive up on the sidewalk to get around the big red tanker of a truck. Just as they passed it, several zombies shambled out into view. One of which got close enough that it touched the bumper of Stephanie’s car. As they rounded the truck, getting back onto the road, they saw a fireman steadily beating on the front door to a hair salon with his fists. With his back turned, and covered in his protective gear, Chris could have sworn the fireman was alive, and maybe even needed help. However, just as he thought to point the man out, the fireman’s attention was distracted from the salon to their vehicle. He was also dead. He turned, shifting toward the car with arms stretched out like all the rest. His face and hands were soaked in red and as he limped forward with an odd stagger. Chris then noticed the large bone protruding from his broken kneecap. Chris didn’t feel the need to point it out. He just muttered a silent prayer and kept driving. Last thing he wanted to happen upon was an overactive convenience store of dead visitors. He hoped that the gas station would be clear of any real threats, because they would be lucky if they made it that far.  

Stephanie’s sudden silence and somber expressing was something Brady quickly picked up on. Taking his attention away from the road, he turned to her and said, “You know, that rifle right there…”

Stephanie caught his gaze as he pointed at the rifle.

“That’s a really great rifle ya got. The Optima 30.06!” Brady’s accent thick.