Another Zombie Apocalypse Tale: Part 13

Three Weeks and Two Days Since the Apocalypse

I leaned toward Beckett, my mouth dry and sticky as I whispered, “Should I shoot him?”

“Maybe.” Beckett kept his eyes forward.

I squinted up at him. That was a perfect non answer, especially for me who has never used a gun before. Maybe shoot the guy? Not helpful.

Elsie remained at our backs. I didn’t dare look behind us, but something in my gut told me the only reason she wasn’t taking charge of this situation was because she had her own situation. In all likelihood, we were surrounded.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said Beckett.

“A shame,” the man said, still grinning, “because we want trouble.”

Channeling the action heroes in the movies, I raised the gun, keeping the barrel trained in the man’s direction. My shoulder muscles ached from the effort. The constant tremor wracking through me didn’t help either.

“Oh, please.” Impossibly, the man’s grin widened. “I already know you have no idea how to use that, little miss.” He chuckled. “I have ears everywhere.”

I swallowed. “It’s not that hard. Point and shoot, right?” Confidence and sass somehow made it through the dryness of my throat, not that it mattered much. It only seemed to amuse the man because he laughed. A few of his cohorts joined with their own chuckles and sideways glances at their friends.

“Get a load of this girl,” their looks seemed to say.

In the movies, we’d be forced to surrender our weapons. We were grossly outnumbered. Sweat dripped down the side of my face as I pondered what would happen if I pulled the trigger? Were these people on top of it enough to start shooting back right away? Their guns weren’t even raised. They held them nonchalantly, as if their existence alone was going to make us give up.

“We don’t have much,” said Beckett. “Our scavenging was cut short, as you can see, we have this little one here with a broken leg.”

“Oh, yes.” The man nodded, almost solemnly, but his grin stayed in place. “I imagine you all have medical supplies then. We did see you all go into the hospital and come back out mostly unscathed.”

My finger floated to the trigger. I felt the curve of it, hooked my finger around it, and—

An insane explosion erupted, sending my mind reeling and ears ringing. The gun bucked up in my hands, slammed against my shoulder, and I stumbled backward. A sore pain, like being sucker punched, bloomed through my shoulder and collarbone.

The shouts and yells sounded as if I were underwater. A hand landed on my shoulder and I was pulled away. My whole world warbled as my ears ached with a tinny ring and my hands felt fuzzy and numb, even as they held the metal of the gun.

I was slammed against a wall, the jarring movement bringing me back just enough to focus on the world around me. Beckett was still holding Myra, who’s little face was scrunched and pale. Elsie was shooting around the corner with her handgun.

“Did I kill him?” I felt myself asking, my voice hollow.

“I don’t think so,” said Beckett. “You aimed high.”

“I wasn’t really aiming at all.” I shook my head and tentatively touched my bruised shoulder.

Elsie appeared, snatching the shotgun from my grasp and shoving the handgun into my palm. It was so small and light compared to the shotgun. Parts of it felt like it was made from a hard plastic. I held it away from me before tucking it away in a side pocket on my backpack. My machete was much more comfortable—and less painful—to wield.

 “I don’t think they have ammo,” Elsie said, panting. “They didn’t fire back.” She hurried us toward the end of the alleyway, making us take a right.

She was reloading the shotgun as we ran. Red shotgun shells hit the ground and tumbled away, and she shoved more into the opening of the barrel in such a fluid motion it was like being in a movie, watching the action hero be adept at tactical stuff.

“They still outnumber us though,” said Beckett.

Myra wasn’t making a single sound and her limbs were limp. Finally passed out from the pain. Or worse, she was dead. My idiot brain begged the question—while we ran for our lives—would she come back as a living corpse, even if the bites didn’t make her sick and die?

A corpse lumbered out in front of us. I readied my machete. Elsie told me not to worry about it, and as we ran past it (its maggot ridden mouth opening and broken fingers starting to stretch toward us) she kicked it in the knee and it sank to the ground in a rotten heap of flesh.

More of the dead began to peel out of the shadows and appear in our path. A few here and there, until it became apparent that we were headed toward a massive group of them. The grinning man’s lackeys were behind us, hooting and hollering. They banged and clanged metal, creating a racket that brought the dead’s attention to us.

“We can’t keep going this way,” Beckett said, panting. “I don’t have my hands to help.”

Elsie glanced behind us, cradling the shotgun. I kept myself in front of Beckett so I could take down anything that tried to reach out for Myra. She remained limp in his arms. I really hoped she wasn’t dead.

Laughter came from above us, and we all looked up. Scattered on balconies of an apartment complex were more of the grinning man’s cohorts. One of them wearing a red baseball cap called down to us.

“We could get you out of this.” His grin wasn’t as off-putting as the grinning man’s but it was equally unwelcome.

The horde of dead were descending on us, some faster than others, breaking off from the group at a limping lope. I readied the machete and did my best to work out the timing, it would be like reverse running for hurdles or the long jump. Instead of calculating my pace, I had to work out the dead’s pace.

Easier said than done since their pace wasn’t as predictable as a living person’s. The damn things kept tripping over their own feet, stumbling over debris in the road. It would have been comical if death wasn’t so imminent.

The closest dead to me reached out broken hands, the wrist bent at awkward angles and bones protruded from the grimy flesh. I raised my machete. The sore bruising on my shoulder slowed my movement. The dead fell back as a makeshift javelin pierced through its chest. I glanced in the direction the spear had come from, up on one of the balconies, but there were too many people to choose from to deduce who had thrown the javelin.

“That was a freebie,” said the red baseball cap man. His smile was tight and fake as shit.

Elsie and I took down a few more of the faster dead. Beckett’s face was scrunched in frustration and helplessness.

“There’s a way out of this,” said Red Baseball Cap, then he spoke into a walkie talkie, the words too quiet to hear. He then grinned his false ass smile and gestured across the street from us. There was an opening, an exit, an escape from the horde, but it was created by his people.

Elsie looked at them, to the horde, then back the way we’d come. We were cut off. It was either go with these people and die, or try to fend off the horde and die.

“Maybe they’re not as big of assholes as they pretend to be,” she said, her face displaying her distrust and how much she didn’t believe her own words.

What choice did we have though?

“The lesser of two weevils,” I said, quoting one of my dad’s favorite movies.

They either misheard me, or got the real meaning behind the poorly timed pun. Beckett nodded and headed toward the open door, Elsie fell into step behind him, then I followed suit.

Beckett passed through the door unharmed. Same as Elise. No hands reached out to yank them to the ground and beat them, but their weapons were removed from their custody. When I reached the threshold, the door slammed in my face. The sliding and the thunk of metal made it known that I wasn’t getting in the door.

“Hey!” I slammed a fist against the door, my shoulder protesting each hit. I heard yelling inside, Elsie and Beckett trying to come to my rescue, but the shouts were drowned out by the familiar laughter of the grinning man. I turned around, and saw him on the balcony with Red Baseball Cap.

“Not you,” said Grinning Man, pointing a finger at me. “You shot at me.”

“Sorry I missed,” I yelled back, bunching my hands into fists. I wished I could exchange the machete for a gun and attempt not missing this time. Attempt at actually aiming. I would be more ready for the explosive shock of the gun this time. Elsie’s handgun was in my pack, but I didn’t have a chance to grab it. Was it even loaded?

Grinning Man chuckled and waved a hand toward the horde. “Have fun out there, little miss.”

A deafening cacophony of jeering and clanging metal erupted. It was just me and the horde now. So much for the lesser of two weevils. I strode to the middle of the road, turning circles to find an escape, testing my shoulder with a few rolls just to make sure it was only bruised and not broken. Then I bit the bullet and faced the horde. Sweat slicked my palm that gripped the machete hilt. I took slow breaths, trying to come to terms with death, my brains being eaten by the dead.

Should I bother to fight at this point?

While contemplating that, I was already scanning a route through the horde. They didn’t stay all packed tight together. They broke apart from each other, especially if there was debris they couldn’t get around. I climbed atop a car, ignoring the commentary being spouted by Red Baseball Cap. This horde wasn’t as big as the last one, the one that forced me to go under the bridge. With Beckett carrying Myra, it never would work, but since it was only me now... It was only me, and I was going to die anyway. Everybody dies at some point, right?

I puffed out a breath then climbed down from the car and took off running. Skirting dead here and there, ducking out of reach of broken and clawed hands, sprinting between sections where the horde lacked numbers.

A cold, moist hand grazed my arm. I whimpered but kept moving. My ankle gave out but I didn’t fall, catching myself and forcing my body forward. The next and final wave of dead, I had to stop. They were packed tighter as the road narrowed, sectioned off by a precarious stack of vehicles.

Most of the horde kept moving forward, drawn by the noise the Grinning Man’s cohorts were making—though they had quieted a bit since I’d made it past the first couple waves of dead—but a few straggling dead were taking notice of me and making their way towards me.

Could I climb the vehicles? Even sitting at the top, waiting for the dead to find something more interesting than me would be safer than the alternative of, you know, waiting to get my brains smashed out of my head for them to eat.

Upon closer inspection—a few decapitated corpses later and an angry shoulder later—the climb wasn’t going to happen. Mirrors have long since been smashed off, and the windows were rolled up and intact. Unless I was an expert climber, which I was not, there were no holds for my hands or feet.

“Shit!” The pitch of my voice went up to a yelp as cool, grimy flesh brushed against me. I skittered to the side and swung the machete. The blade embedded in the torso of a skeletal corpse. There was no discerning it’s gender as it fell toward me, teeth clacking furiously. Its arms were nubs of bone, flesh only covered the meaty part of its shoulders and thighs. The thing didn’t even have eyes.

I yanked the blade free and shoved the corpse away, only for another, more deadly one to take its place. And another, then another, then another one. I was trapped between a wall of dead and a wall of metal. The last wave of dead circled around the vehicles to corner me.

Air whistled followed by a wet shhuuck sound. Clotted blood and other bodily material spattered across me. A javelin protruded from the heads of the five closest dead, creating an opening for me. I maneuvered out of the way and glanced around, trying to find the thrower.

“Go, Kamikaze! Run!” yelled an oh-so-familiar voice.

Instead of doing as I was commanded, I spun around, trying to find the person I thought was dead. Who I assumed was dead, and he probably assumed I was dead.

I severed the brain of a corpse grasping for me, and did another turn, trying to find him. My heart swelled with hope and want and joy.

“Allen,” I screamed, searching the high windows for him. “Where are you?”