so much. Blood and tissue had long since dried on a fair amount of the walls and doors.
Casings and the resultant holes were all over the place. What wasn’t there, were bodies,
human or zombie. And that normally meant human inhabitants, and I can’t imagine they’d
be all that thrilled that I’d brought another fight to their door step.
After no response to my entreaty, I gingerly checked the doorknob, fully expecting
a gunshot for my efforts. “Locked, dammit.”
“Were you perhaps expecting an invite?” BT asked.
“That would have been nice and at least you’re feeling good enough to give me shit.”
“Want me to kick it in?” Gary asked.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on, Gambo,” I said. “You kick it in, and they know exactly where
we are.”
“We stay in this hallway and we’re going to have the same problem,” BT said. We all
nodded at that.
“Alright, fan out. Let’s quickly work down the hallway. Knock first then check the
door knob. First unlocked one…we’re heading in.”
We were about halfway down the corridor when the silence became deafening. It’s like
that moment when you’ve been at a rock concert and the band has concluded their show
and are exiting stage right. The whole night you’ve been communicating with those
around you on a different level with hand gestures (usually a drinking motion to signify
‘more beer?’) or yelling into each other’s ear or enjoying the cocoon of noise that
envelopes you so completely you can immerse yourself in the music. When it’s over,
you have to go through a readjustment period. The resultant silence is deafening,
and that’s what I meant. The bikers had shut off their engines which I had to figure
meant they were coming in.
“Dude, open up, I’ve got some killer smoke,” Trip said to apartment 221’s door.
“As good a reason to let someone in as any,” BT said as we all watched Trip twist
the knob and head straight in.
My heart raced with visions of Trip being blown back by a shotgun. I ran down the
hallway to hopefully prevent that, or at least catch him as he fell. Nothing happened
except the sweet smell of some burning leaf.
“Looks like he decided to start without them.” BT leaned up against the doorframe.
I could only shake my head. “Everyone in.” Not gonna lie, it seemed weird that we
would be making a last stand in a crappy apartment. I guess it’s truly weird when
you have to make a last stand anywhere, truth be told.
The apartment was cleaned out. Whatever provisions it held were gone, could have been
from the previous occupants or someone scavenging. It was nice at least that the place
wasn’t the site of any bloodshed, those were few and far between. Gary turned the
lock once we made sure there were no surprises within. There was a small corridor
that led to the main room, the kitchen was on the right as you came in. I just couldn’t
see it being worth the bikers’ trouble getting in here. We’d already bled them so
much. I guess when you have nothing more to lose, what’s the difference? That’s what
made them scary. I almost got the feeling they wanted to die.
“Trav, Justin, you guys keep an eye on the windows. Stay back enough so that no one
can see you just in case someone gets the grand idea to put a ladder up or something.
Tracy, you and BT take the kitchen. Me, Tommy, and Gary will hold them from the front.”
I figured they were in for a world of hurt. If they’d listen, I’d love to tell them
it wasn’t worth it. Especially not to me, maybe their leader didn’t give a shit about
his people, but everyone in this apartment was precious to me.
“What about us?” Stephanie asked.
Trip could be as big of a liability as an asset. I really didn’t want to make that
coin flip. “See if there is anything in this place that you think we can use, a roll-away
fire escape ladder would be perfect. Barring that, maybe see if you can tie some sheets
together for a makeshift get-away.”
“Does that really work?” Stephanie asked.
“I really hope we don’t have to find out. Anything less than a two thousand thread
count isn’t going to hold BT anyway.”
“Talbot, I’m right fucking here, I can hear you,” BT said.
Then, from below us, we heard, “I’m going to find you!”
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t,” BT said.
There were gunshots below us, and then the slamming open of doors. No subtlety there.
We were all tense in anticipation. I can’t even begin to tell how many times I’ve
been shot at, and it never gets easier—you’re always waiting for that stray bullet
that catches you in the neck or face or straight through the heart. The body just
starts pegging all of the senses to hyper-awareness. I could easily see why some men
love this stuff so much that they become professional soldiers. It becomes its own
drug, something that doing daily errands will never achieve, unless, of course, it’s
in Afghanistan or somewhere equally deadly.
The sound of gunfire followed a door slamming open changed into screams of alarm and
then a near constant rate of fire. They’d stumbled on a heavily armed homestead or…
“Zombies!” someone screamed.
“Blaze, there’s dozens of them coming up the stairwell!”
“Basement?” I asked, looking at Tommy.
“Dozens…sounds like a hive,” Tracy said.
“Bikers and zombies, sounds like a horrible B-movie.” I quipped.
“I’ve seen that one,” Trip said, coming out of the bedroom with a pillowcase.
“Going trick-or-treating?” I asked him.
“It’s Halloween?” he asked all excited.
“Shit, there are enough monsters out there for it to be,” BT said.
Trip started to head to the door, apparently to go seek out some free sweet treats.
“Why are you egging him on?” I asked BT.
“You’re the one that brought it up,” he said in self-defense.
“Trip, buddy, it’s not Halloween yet,” I told him.
“Sure it is. I have a pillowcase.”
“Steph!” I yelled. She came and grabbed her husband.
“Maybe we can get out of here while they’re fighting the zombies,” Tracy said.
It was plausible. It did sound like most of the fighting was happening on the far
side of the building. But they’d be retreating to where we needed to go. Would bygones
be bygones if we ran into each other now, the whole ‘your enemy is my enemy thus we
are friends’ saying? I got up and went to the door, opening it slowly. I poked my
head out, to the right it was clear, to the left were bikers being closely pursued.
“Shit, he saw me.” I pulled back in and quickly shut the door.
A couple of seconds later, a trio of heavy pounds hit the door. “I know where you
are, fucker!” he yelled as he raced by.
“What the hell is he going to do about it?” BT asked.
“Beats me,” I said, then we heard bullets firing outside our doorway. For a split-second
I thought they were directed at us. But they went by and then we heard the pitter
patter of zombie feet—shitloads of zombie feet. It sounded like the beginnings of
a marathon out there.
“How many are there?” Tracy mouthed the words.
“Like…five,” I l
ied to her quietly.
Occasionally one would slam into the door as they were jostled into it. Or we’d hear
fingernails drag across it as a zombie or two tried to regain their balance. It was
horrifying.
Stephanie came up to me and shook her head, letting me know they didn’t find anything
worthwhile. “No sheets, nothing,” she said as we heard the last of the zombies streak
on by. Then we heard the pounding upstairs; the bikers were leading them up and more
importantly away from us.
“We should go,” BT said. “This is our window.”
“Where?” I asked. “Our ride is busted, and if the zombies catch wind of us, we’ll
never be able to outrun them.”
“I hate when you make a valid point,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem right when someone
as unstable as you makes sense, kind of throws my whole world off-kilter a bit.”
I flipped him the bird. We all looked up when we heard footsteps overhead. Blaze had
apparently decided to take up residence above us. I could tell how poorly the apartments
were made when I could hear every single one of their footfalls and the ensuing muffled
conversations they were having. Must have been a blast living under an apartment of
a family with a few kids.
“Hey, shithead, you down there?” he yelled.
That came through loud and clear.
“Against the walls!” I hissed, but loud enough that my message was received by everyone.
Within a few seconds, bullets punctured through the drywall above us and burrowed
deeply into the floor.
“Two can play at that game, shit stain!” I yelled, sending a spray upwards. I was
rewarded with a scream, a thud, and a heavy cascading of blood leaking through the
holes I had just made.
“Okay! Truce, man, truce! No more shooting!” Blaze, or whom I figured to be Blaze,
yelled. “We cool?”
I didn’t answer.
“Listen, man, we’re pinned down by zombies. How many of you are there?” he asked.
I thought I could detect an edge of panic in his voice.
“Seriously?” I asked him.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s this new world, man, makes people do stupid shit.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t think it was this ‘new world’ that brought out the shittier
side of humans. We have always had it in us. Why is man so fundamentally flawed? Does
it really go back to knowledge and that stupid apple Eve just had to have? I would
have rather been a noble savage. Thanks, Eve, for ruining it for the rest of us. There
was civilization before the zombies, but I truly think it hung on the precarious edge
of a razor. Take the news for example; which stories were we as a people drawn to
almost without fail? It was the murders, the rapes, and the large scale robberies.
In some sick way, that stuff triggered things in us.
Now, that’s not saying we didn’t enjoy the occasional ‘feel good’ fluff story about
Johnny and his dog raising money for poor kids in Africa or something. But it’s the
devastating and sick stories that really got us. If you want to sit there and act
all indignant, go ahead, but it’s in all of us. Haven’t you ever wanted to murder
someone on the roadway, or shove a pen through your boss’s eye? Not to mention what
you may or may not do if you were ever able to get a hold of a cheerleading squad.
The question is WHY is wanting to do harm to our fellow human being hardwired into
us?
The veneer of civilization and religion usually prevents us from doing this. We obviously
don’t want to go to jail, or be tried in the court of public perception. But, you
strip the restraints away, and being kind to your neighbor goes out the door in a
hurry. Zombies suck; don’t get me wrong, but it’s the living that are worse. In a
time when we should be banding together, we get people like Blaze who are only concerned
with the moment in which they find themselves, and making it to the next at any and
all costs to any that fall along his path. Can it be Evil sensing an opportunity?
If God gave us free will, he sure wasn’t granting us any favors.
“Blaze, I can’t hold the door much longer!” someone screamed up above.
“God, forgive me for what I’m about to do,” I said as I walked up to our doorway.
I pointed my rifle up and blew a good ten holes through the ceiling, moving before
the resultant blood began to spill down. Then the screams began in earnest as zombies
began to flood into the apartment above us, pushing past the now-deceased door minder.
Sounded like they were hosting a huge rave.
“Let’s go,” I said amidst the battle above us.
“I’ll find you!” Blaze screamed.
“Only in the after-life,” I murmured.
I heard glass breaking just as BT exited. He and I were the last ones out.
“Hard-core, man,” he said.
“I’d like to say I feel remorse, but I don’t.”
“Understood.”
I turned as I saw something go by our window. I think Blaze was taking the express
route.
“Come on, we gotta go before the zombies finish up and go looking for dessert,” I
said.
BT was already moving. Tommy was by the stairwell door, I saw him look through the
small safety window. He then opened the door slowly and fired off five or six quick
shots.
“Three in the stairwell,” he said.
“Did they post guards?” I asked, more to myself.
We got down the stairs and out without any further complications, but we hadn’t made
it more than a hundred yards from the building when we heard the door slam open. We’d
been spotted, and they looked hungry. BT was looking better, but he was easily going
to be the slowest in the bunch. Well…that was unless, of course, Trip stopped and
started smelling the flowers. We had no options.
“The truck!” I bellowed.
Anywhere else was suicide. Although, so was the truck. In all reality, it would be
just drawn out a lot longer. Nobody questioned my decision; there was no alternative.
I stayed by BT’s side as he labored, turning every few steps to take out or slow down
some of the lead zombies. Their bodies contorted as I sent hot lead into them. Sometimes
I got lucky and would send a spread of brain tissue into the air, dropping the zombie
forever.
A Henry-carrying Tommy reached the truck first. As soon as he got my mutt inside the
back of the truck, he moved to the side to get some shots off. Gary was second and
started helping or tossing people into the back depending on their location.
“Let’s go, Tommy!” I shouted when I realized BT and I should be able to make it comfortably,
and by ‘comfortably’ I meant by the skin of our teeth. If he had another seizure,
we were through. “Help me get him in!” I told Tommy as an ashen-faced BT gripped the
lip of the truck bed. Tommy and I hoisted him up while Gary and Trip pulled on his
arms.
“This is just like Da Nang,” Trip said.
“Vietnam?” I asked as Tommy and I crawled in.
Gary pulled the rod that held the tailgate open. I thought my heart was going to burst
when I saw nearly a dozen severed zombie fingers twitching inches away from my feet