Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde Page 5

  “Don't stop walking until you get back,” I said, reaching into my pocket and handing over my emergency Snickers bar. “Pick a house you like, maybe something with a pool, and lock yourself in. Once we find help in Lompoc we'll come back for you.”

  “How will you know which house I'm in?”

  “We'll search all of them until we find you,” Tom said softly.

  “What if I get attacked on my way back? I don't have a weapon to fight off the zombies.”

  “We can't leave him a weapon,” Joel said. “It's a waste. Chances are we're going to need it far worse than he is. By the time the sun comes up he won't even know who he is!”

  Sam looked down, afraid to make eye contact with him. The rest of the group shot Joel dirty looks that shut him up. Tom handed over his grenade launcher.

  “Here,” Tom said. “Take this. It's only got one good shot left but it's heavy enough to swing around and use as a club if you get jumped.”

  “You're going to be all right,” Benji said.

  “He's right,” I lied. “There is less chance of being attacked during the night so you'd better hurry. You're going to want to get back before the sun comes up.”

  “Okay,” Sam said, standing up with his new gun. He wiped his tears on the back of his hand.

  “Good luck,” Tom offered.

  “See you later,” Benji said sadly.

  “Pick a good house,” Tom added with a brave smile.

  “We'll be back before you know it,” I encouraged.

  Joel looked away but the rest of us watched as the young boy limped away from us along the road in the direction we'd just come from, the direction we'd been fleeing due to a wild zombie horde. When we could no longer see him, we turned and continued on down the highway, the weight of everything that had happened making my feet feel like two blocks of heavy lead.

  Chapter Five

  We'd been walking in the pitch black for less than an hour when we saw headlights approaching in the distance. The sound of the truck buzzing along toward us reached us after we spotted what looked like an insect glowing in the darkness. I was starting to feel delirious after all the walking. It was the dead of night, the air was biting cold, and we'd been walking so long my feet were going numb. I was totally wiped out. A quick glance around showed me that the others were pretty much in the same state I was. The incident with Sam hadn't helped with morale either. Aside from the savage hunger and rotting skin, we weren't all that much different at that point than the creatures we were fleeing. It took a moment for it to sink in but when it finally did, I stopped dead in my tracks and just watched the truck heading our way.

  “That thing is headed right for us,” I mused.

  “Thank God,” Joel coughed. “I'm walking along like one of the zombies at this point. I feel dead on my feet.”

  “Careful,” I cautioned. “We wouldn't want to have to shoot you.”

  He blasted a nasty look in my direction and I immediately returned his glare.

  “Guys,” Benji said, his voice weary and filled with dread. “What do we do?”

  “What do you mean?” Joel wheeled around on him. “We flag him down and ask for a ride, obviously.”

  “Benji's got a point,” I said. “How do we know he's friendly?”

  “Now just what is that supposed to mean?” Joel asked, the anger rising up in his voice.

  “We're not on the base anymore,” I continued. “Everyone we meet isn't just going to be nice and want to help us. It's a lawless zone out here. We have no way of knowing how the driver of that truck is going to react to us. Plus they’re heading in the wrong direction straight toward a zombie horde.”

  “All the more reason we should wave them over and warn them,” Tom interjected, looking over to Joel who gave him a nod of solidarity.

  “What if we take cover for now until we see what the driver looks like,” Benji offered. “If we feel safe once we've gotten a decent look at the truck, we can make our presence known and try to flag him down. If not, we haven't given ourselves away.”

  “Now that is good advice,” I said. “Anyone have a better idea?”

  I could see that Joel didn't but he still wanted to argue. After what happened with Sam I wasn't able to hide my disgust for him. As far as I was concerned, Joel was a bigger threat to our safety than any zombie ever would be. Zombies weren't accountable for their actions. They were victims just like the rest of us. Joel, on the other hand, was a bloodthirsty killer just waiting for an excuse to execute one of us. I felt like a monster for even thinking of hurting Sam. Joel had been ready to pull the trigger himself! If I had been there to stop him he'd have walked the poor little guy off into the bushes like an old dog and shot him in the back of the head. The thought of it made ice flood through my veins, hardening my heart further against him.

  “Fine,” Joel said, relenting at last. He was trying his best to maintain the illusion that he was in some sort of control and failing miserably.

  We scurried off the road and into a cluster of bushes to wait. The sound of the truck grew closer and I grew more and more impatient. Hunger was starting to make me edgy. I wasn't sorry I'd given away my emergency candy bar as a last meal to a sad kid, but I sure wished I had another one. I continued to think about Sam despite the fact it was the last thing in the world I wanted to be pondering. The mind has a way of playing tricks on you when you're tired. What if these people came across him walking back to Vandenberg and discovered that he had been bitten? Who knows what they would do? They might very well have the same reaction that Joel did. Then again, what if Sam hid his bite wound out of fear and got into the truck with them? They might be carrying the disease back to an area they thought was safe and spreading it. Under those circumstances, Joel would have been right to want to kill Sam. There was no way I was going to ever admit that out loud though. I couldn't and still live with myself.

  “Looks like a white Nissan with a bearded man driving,” Tom whispered.

  “What are those marks on the side of the truck?” Benji asked.

  “They look like bullet holes to me,” Tom said.

  “That's because they are,” Joel confirmed. “There are also two armed men standing in the back with some kind of rifles.”

  “What does that mean?” Benji prodded.

  “It means Xander was right to tell us to lay low,” Joel admitted, sounding unhappy about having to give me credit for anything. “Could be a militia or a roaming band of thugs looking for trouble to get into. I say we wait for them to pass, then move on along down the highway until we get to town.”

  The truck was getting closer. Soon it would pass us and then, if it kept heading north, it would run into Sam—who by this point had probably sat down and gone into shock from his wound. Zombie bite victims report feeling disoriented after they’re infected, this was according to early news reports from back before anyone knew it was going to be an epidemic. Their bodies shut down as a terrible fever overcomes them, just like people infected with HIV. It's the body’s way of trying to fight off the virus. It doesn't work and it leaves the victim totally incapacitated. Sometimes, from what I've heard, they then experience organ failure. Within a few hours they lose the ability to think clearly; they can’t communicate and then become agitated. At that point they aren't fully people anymore, but they aren't quite zombies yet either. The first victims had no way of knowing what was happening to them. Poor Sam does. He'd know the whole way through what was happening to him. I couldn't begin to imagine that kind of fear.

  Without thinking, I stood up and stared at the truck.

  “What are you doing?” Joel demanded. “Get back down, you moron!”

  Joel grabbed at my jeans, trying to yank me back down, but I pulled away from him and walked out into the middle of the road. The truck was barreling down on me. At first, I wasn't sure it was going to stop.

  Great, I thought as the front bumper of the truck drew closer to my kneecaps. I've survived the end of the world only to die
of a car accident.

  “What the hell!” I heard a man's voice yell. The tires squealed as the truck came to a screeching halt less than ten feet from me. White smoke rose up from the tires and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. The two men in back had their faces covered. They were standing in the bed of the truck and pointed their weapons at me.

  “Don't shoot!” I hollered. “We just need a ride.”

  The driver of the truck opened the door and stepped out.

  “John?” One of the shooters cautioned him.

  “It's all right,” John said. “Just keep him covered for now.”

  He turned his attention to me.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Military base up north,” I said, keeping my hands up. “We were overrun by a zombie horde.”

  “There is no such thing as a zombie horde,” John replied matter-of-factly. “Zoms can't barely think for themselves. They're driven by hunger, like mindless insects. They are drawn to the living by sight and smell. Period. They don't communicate with other zombies and they don't work together.”

  “That's what we thought too,” I said, trying not to tremble. I couldn't tell if it was the cold or the fear getting to me. “Until they knocked down the walls at Vandenberg and killed everyone we knew.”

  “Vandenberg's been taken out? Jesus.”

  “They were definitely working together,” I added, feeling a little more confident. “Like they had some kind of hive mind.”

  “How'd you get down this way?” John asked, ignoring my suggestion.

  “We walked,” I replied.

  “There are more of you?” John looked around nervously for an ambush. His guards did the same. “Come on out. Show yourselves.”

  Slowly Benji, Tom, and Joel stood up.

  “Get your hands up where we can see them!” The guards swung around and trained their guns on the group in the bushes. Joel gave me an angry look.

  “They're just little kids,” one of the men shouted to the leader who acted like he didn't hear him.

  “Is that all of you?” John shouted.

  “Yes it is,” I said, shooting a threatening look to the rest of the group to keep their mouths shut about Sam.

  “Get on out here,” John ordered. Cautiously the group walked over and joined me in front of the truck's headlights.

  “Now,” John said, seeming calmer, “where are you headed?”

  “Lompoc,” I said. “Then farther down south toward the coast.”

  John laughed and shook his head.

  “It's a good thing we found you,” he said. “You'd never make it into the city without an armed escort.”

  “What do you mean?” Joel asked.

  “Lompoc is a war zone now,” John said, spitting on the ground.

  “You mean zombies?” Benji asked sheepishly.

  “Yeah,” John said, “sure. We still got those. Plus there is the damn Unity Gang to worry about now.”

  “What is the Unity Gang?” Tom asked innocently.

  “Hell on earth, son,” John said causally. “It's a collection of bikers and rival gangs that got together after Z-Day to wreak havoc on the last of the living.”

  “You mean like a pack of outlaws?” Joel asked.

  “Exactly,” John responded. “Like a mega gang. They got a little bit of everything. Crips. Bloods. Latin Thugs. Hell's Angels. You name it. If the damned zombies don't get you, the Unity Gang will. All they live for is to rape, kill, and pillage. They do murder just for sport. That's why we can't never be too careful.”

  “That sounds terrible,” Benji said with a visible shudder.

  “You got that right,” John agreed. “A lot of good citizens just barricaded themselves in after the zombies started eating people. Not the Unity Gang. They preyed on the weak, using the natural goodness of people and their basic human decency against them, tricking them into opening up their doors so they could bring helter skelter down on 'em.”

  This is the last thing we need, I thought. More complications. I wondered if we would be able to talk John into giving us a car with some gas and getting us on our way.

  “Most folks were too scared to do anything about it. They sat back and watched as these animals took advantage of their neighbors, praying it wouldn't be them next. It's enough to make a good man sick to his stomach.”

  “So you armed yourselves and took a stand against them?” Joel asked. John smiled at him. He obviously liked the way Joel thought.

  “You bet we did,” John said. “We took back a bunch of neighborhoods from the dead and the damned, making a safe zone. We got food, water, electricity, indoor plumbing. It's almost like it used to be. We make sweeps outside the city looking for survivors and supplies when we're not on duty.”

  “You got clean beds?” Joel asked, sounding more and more comfortable with the situation despite the fact we still had guns trained on us. “We're exhausted and could use a good night's sleep.”

  “Sure,” John shrugged. “We'll be glad to give you a ride and get you all set up, just as soon as you strip down and let us examine you for bite marks.”

  I swallowed hard thinking about Sam. Right then and there I knew I'd done the right thing. Benji gave me a look that said he understood why I'd marched out into the middle of the road.

  “Is that a problem, gentlemen?” John asked, noticing Benji and me.

  “Not at all,” Joel crowed, stripping down to his underwear like it was a hot summer day and he was about to plunge into a cool lake. He nodded to Tom who followed his lead. Benji and I did the same. John signaled for one of the guys in the back of the truck. He came over with a flashlight held in his teeth so he could hold onto his weapon. It reminded me of something from the show Cops. He gave us a good onceover, then nodded to John.

  “Well then,” John said. “Looks like this lot is cleared for takeoff. Hop in the back and keep your heads down. Today's forecast calls for lead showers and a hail of bullets.”

  We dressed quickly and did as we were told. John got back in and turned the truck around, driving us back toward the city again. Deep down inside, I knew none of it mattered. Sam was dead no matter what I did. Giving him his last few human moments without added fear of being cut in half by an automatic weapon wasn't going to change his fate. Still a small part of me felt better, like I had done something good and made a difference—even though I hadn't, not really. I don't know if it was the sound of the wind rushing by drowning out everything but the hum of the engine, or just the fact that I was exhausted—but against all odds I slipped down in the bed of the truck and fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  I was in the darkness, surrounded by hissing demons. I could smell them, but not see them. I could feel the dread they inspired, an irrational fear that climbed up inside of me and grew like a weed until it overwhelmed me. I was afraid to move, afraid I'd give them a direction to lunge toward. But I was also afraid not to move, knowing that if I didn't do something to get away they would eventually find me. Zombies don't sleep. They don't get tired. They just keep coming until they get you. You cannot reason with them. You can't plead with them. All you can do is run. My legs felt like they were made out of lead. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. I could hear my own shallow breathing but it sounded like it was coming from somewhere else outside of me.

  Something slithered through the darkness like a snake, only bigger and heavier. Every muscle in my body tensed up as I prepared for an attack of some kind. I felt a hand wrap itself around my right ankle, like an iron shackle, cold and hard. Electricity shot through me as a wave of panic crashed over me. Another hand wrapped around my calf, cold and unyielding, while the sounds of a large creature dragging itself toward me intensified. The scraping across the ground sounded like mountains of sandpaper scratching inside my mind. Searing pain shot through me and I screamed out as the zombie bit deep into the back of my leg. It was a crawler. I looked down to see tiny little zombie Sam staring up at me, blood pouring
out of his mouth from the wound he'd just left in my leg. He was still in one piece but his legs didn't seem to be working. He hissed at me with dead eyes like a large snake.

  Looking up, I saw zombies coming out of the dark mist on all sides of me. I was surrounded completely. There was no way out! I looked back down just in time to see Sam biting back into my leg. I screamed as loud as I could, filling my lungs with air several times in a row and yelling some more until I was hoarse. This was it for me. I was a goner now. They were going to tear me to shreds and there was nothing I could do about it!

  I shot up panting and sweating. I was in a soft bed under the covers. There was a poster of Felicity James, the child celebrity turned reality star, staring down at me from above the bed. Before Z-Day I used to think about her all the time, but having the dead reanimate and try to kill you tends to change your priorities.

  Where am I?

  For a minute I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. I pulled back the covers to examine my leg. It was fine. I noticed a scratchy tag had been scraping me in the same place I’d been bitten in my nightmare.

  Am I dead? I thought. Or better yet, maybe all this zombie stuff was just a bad dream. But this isn't my room. Where am I?

  I got up and looked out the window, surprised for a moment to realize I was dressed in pajamas. Pieces of the previous night were coming back to me: the walk, the guns, and getting in the back of the truck. I pulled the shades to reveal a suburban neighborhood. Bright sun beamed down on rows of identical homes with well-manicured lawns. Armed guards in khaki uniforms roamed the streets. They were the only indication that anything was off from the way things used to be before Z-Day.

  Where's my sword? Panic shot through me. I didn't like being unarmed. One thing I'd learned since the end of the world was that it was better to have a weapon and not need one than need one and not have it. Moto said that's an old cliché, but to be honest I don't recall ever hearing it before things went bad. Maybe it's just universal wisdom. Who's to say what's old and what's new now that the world as we know it is over?