Hamsikker: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel (6 page)

Once Jonas had graduated, he moved to LA, hoping to find work, and maybe fame and fortune, and leave small-town suburbia behind. He and Erik had drifted apart, despite a promise not to let the distance divide them. Growing up they had been as close as brothers, and with Janey in tow, they had been close. His sister was only a year younger than he was, and he always wondered if she and Erik might have progressed beyond friends once they were older, but his father put a stop to that. Erik had been focused for some time on joining the force, but all Jonas ever dreamt of was leaving. When the time came, he hadn’t looked back. He had abandoned Janey to her fate, and it was to her credit that she still talked to him. She said she didn’t blame him for what happened, but he blamed himself. He had almost not turned up to the funeral either, but someone had to sort out the estate, and Janey wasn’t about to waste her time on her father anymore.

When he’d reached LA, Jonas started working in a bar in the daytime, and working out in the evenings. A succession of women had passed through his room over the couple of years he’d lived there, but fame and fortune never found its way to his door. He’d become a drifter, not knowing what to do with his life, nor really caring. He had coasted for a few years until he’d met Dakota, and then things had changed. Everything he had been running away from suddenly became exactly what he craved, and she was his world. Looking at her now, he saw the dirt streaked down her cheeks, her once beautiful hair tangled and greasy, and her shoulders slumped as she walked wearily beside him without talking. There once was a time when she would just talk and talk and talk, until he had to kiss her to get her to stop. She was half the person she used to be, and he hated that he couldn’t fix things. All he was to her now was a shoulder to cry on at night. Sex was virtually impossible when you were living with a dozen people in a house built for four. It wasn’t that they were falling out of love, just that they were less of a couple, unable to share any intimacy or privacy. One day, this will all be over, Jonas thought. One day, things will go back to normal. He kept repeating it over and over in his mind, but he couldn’t force himself to believe it. Things would never go back to the way they were.

Following a curve in the road, Jonas saw Erik and Pippa had stopped opposite a large sign advertising plots for sale amidst a new redevelopment of luxurious townhouses.

“Out of your price range,” said Jonas as he approached Erik.

“Just wondering if we could try one of them to rest up a bit,” replied Erik.

Mrs Danick loosened the shawl around her shoulders. “Sure is hot out here today. Even my blisters have blisters,” she said hopping from foot to foot as she rubbed her ankles.

Jonas looked at Dakota. “What do you think?”

Dakota shrugged. When she was noncommittal, it didn’t mean she didn’t care; just that she hadn’t made her mind up yet. She liked to think things through before making a decision.

“Um, guys, I think we need to check it out,” said Tyler. “I thought I’d heard something, but I didn’t think anything of it as it sounded so far away. Look down the hill.”

Jonas stared back at where they had come from. Like a steadily boiling pot, the noise had only been increasing incrementally as they’d left town, and he hadn’t noticed anything. Now he was looking though, he could see what Tyler meant. A tsunami of zombies was advancing upon them, and the rushing sound of dead groans filled the air. Wave after wave, they kept coming, crushing the slowest walkers, and filling the streets entirely. There were no gaps in their ranks, and the miserable sight filled Jonas with despair. He thought they had left them behind, leaving the garage successfully without attracting any attention. It appeared all they had done was draw more, and now there was an army of the dead, only minutes behind them.

“Right, let’s get somewhere to hide, and fast. If we’re sharp, we can be out of sight, and they’ll pass us by.”

The housing complex up ahead was little more than a building site full of half-completed roads, and abandoned trucks. The complex hadn’t been finished, and many of the houses were just shells, but he took it as a good sign. If it hadn’t opened yet, then nobody lived there, and if nobody lived there, then it was likely to be empty: no people meant no zombies.

Jonas jogged into the development. With the rest of the group following him, he knew he had to find somewhere fast. The first row of houses looked to be the most complete. Various tools, pieces of wood and pots of paint decorated the dirt yards, but the homes had four straight walls and solid roofs. He tried the door handle of the first house, and it opened immediately. Whilst it was dark inside, it was obviously empty, and that was good enough for him. “Hurry up,” he said as he ushered everyone in. “Get in, get in.”

Jonas closed the door and told everyone to go upstairs. As he followed them, he brushed his hands along the walls. They hadn’t been finished, and were rough to the touch. The floors were bare, uncarpeted, and he winced with each step. As he climbed the stairs, every step creaked, and he prayed they were far enough away not to be heard. Enough light came through the windows for them to see by, and he anxiously followed Erik into a large room. The group had taken residence on what appeared to be a large bedroom, and they were sitting on unvarnished floorboards. The hollow houses had no furniture or dressings, and judging by the amount of paint slopped across the walls, they had been abandoned in a hurry.

“Get down,” said Erik as Jonas approached him.

Sinking to his knees, he realised everyone was crouching or sitting, keeping well away from the solitary window in the west facing wall. He rubbed Dakota’s back as he crawled over to Erik beneath the window.

“You think they saw us?” Jonas asked Erik in a whisper.

Erik turned up his nose. “I hope not. We don’t have the firepower, or energy, to fight that lot off.”

“Shush.” Quinn poked her head up to get a look outside. “We need to know for certain.”

Jonas watched as Quinn tentatively hauled herself up to the windowsill, and peered outside. She kept her movements to a minimum, and he felt sure the zombies wouldn’t see her. But what if they had seen them go into the house? Erik was right. Between the Glock 22 and the pistol in Mrs Danick’s handbag, they had enough bullets to take down no more than a dozen zombies. After that, they would be reduced to axes, knives, and bare fists. He looked at Quinn, wishing she would hurry up and tell them what was happening. It seemed to take an eternity for her to assess the situation, and his heart was pounding. What if he’d led them into a dead-end, nothing but a prison where the dead would pick them off one by one?

Quinn lowered her head slowly, and then crouched back down. “I think we’re in the clear,” she whispered. “It looks like they’re heading up the hill, past the turn off to this place. If we keep quiet, we may just catch a break.”

Even though nobody spoke, it seemed like the room fell even quieter. Jonas could practically hear everyone draw in a breath, and a silence fell over them like a warm blanket. Seconds turned into minutes, as they kept quiet. The drone of the dead continued unabated outside as the horde passed. They were so close, and yet so far. One sneeze, one cough and it would all be over. Jonas nervously fingered the bloody axe, wrapping his fingers tightly around the shaft in case he had to use it. He had visions of the dead suddenly running up the stairs and crashing into the room where they all hid. He could see it now, hundreds and hundreds of them pouring in, overwhelming him, biting Dakota, biting Erik and Quinn and Pippa, and eating them all alive. The moaning chorus grew louder as the thick crowd of zombies reached the top of the hill. Where the dead turned next was crucial. If they stopped, or turned around, they were in serious trouble. He needed the zombies to continue, to carry on over the hill in their quest for meat. If they became lost, or attracted by anything, the group could be stuck in the house for days. Randall carried a knapsack full of food, and Peter had a bag of bottled water, but it would not last long. It was only intended to keep them going for around twenty four hours. Jonas assumed when they’d left Erik’s place that they would find somewhere else. He had assumed the garage was safe, but trusting Cliff had turned out to be a bad mistake.

The groaning that came in through the window, and bounced around the room like the whispers of ghosts, eventually faded. Minutes trickled by slowly, but Jonas knew they were leaving. Whatever impulse was keeping them on their feet was carrying them further away. Once the noise had faded to almost nothing, he asked Quinn to take another look. When she came back down from the window, she was smiling.

“They’re gone. I can’t see any. They must’ve carried on over the hill,” she said in a low voice. Even though the dead had apparently gone, they spoke quietly, fearful of bringing them back.

“Okay,” said Jonas, “let’s go downstairs quietly. We’ll double back to the city, find another road out of town, and maybe head up north. Just watch out for stragglers. Yell if you need help.”

Jonas took point, and once downstairs, he asked Erik to keep hold of the Glock. “You’re a better shot than me. We can’t afford to waste any ammo. I’ve got my axe, and that’s all I need.”

Erik stuffed it carefully into his belt. “You know, we could check this housing development out. What if the contractors had a show home ready, and they fixed up the kitchen? Would be an awful shame if we missed out. There could be a heap of stuff we could take with us.”

“Do we really have time?” asked Quinn. “I mean, if we’re not intending to stay here the night, I think we’re better off moving on.”

“Agreed. It doesn’t feel right up here. It’s too quiet,” said Jonas. “Let’s round everyone up and get out of here. Even if they had any food stored, it would likely be off by now. It’s not worth us rooting around for something that may not exist.”

“Hey, guys, there’s someone in here.” Randall was standing by a small shack looking excitedly at a green door. It looked like an office, with one square window, and a pile of tools stacked up outside. Set back from the road, the shack probably served as the foreman’s office, and Randall was pulling at the handle. “I can hear them. We have to help.”

“Shit,” said Jonas. Randall was old, but he was tough as boots, and he would have the door down in seconds.

Erik and Quinn ran toward Randall, but Jonas was puzzled. Whoever was in there must’ve heard them talking, and yet, hadn’t called for help. There couldn’t be much room inside, especially if there was still a desk, chairs, filing cabinet, and the usual associated clutter. Why stay hidden? As Randall continued pulling on the door handle, the group clustered around him. Jonas watched as Randall picked up a shovel and prised at the door’s hinges. Then it struck him. If whoever was in there needed help, why was the door locked?

“Randall, stop,” shouted Jonas, but it was too late.

As Randall managed to prise the door open an inch, a hand appeared through the slight crack, and then it burst open. Three zombies spilled out, one after the other, falling into a messy heap on top of Randall. The dead men were all dressed in work boots, jeans, and open-necked checked shirts. One still wore a yellow hard-hat, and clearly, the men had barricaded themselves inside. Unfortunately, one of them must’ve been infected, perhaps bitten, and it wasn’t hard to work out what had happened to them. Jonas could hear grunting noises coming from the dead, and he hoped their teeth were well away from his friend.

Jonas watched as the group splintered, some running away from the zombies, some running to help Randall. He saw Erik drag Pippa away as Peter took Freya to safety. Quinn and Dakota practically threw themselves at Randall to help, and Terry jumped in as well, the knife in his hand plunging into a zombie’s back. Outside the workman’s shack, the pile of bodies grew, arms and legs tangling together as the dead and the living merged into a giant game of Twister.

“Hold still!” yelled Mrs Danick, as she trained her gun on the writhing pile of bodies. Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated her vision on the dead.

Jonas sprinted toward the chaos, determined that nobody else was going to die today. He could tell from the screaming and shouting that he was probably too late. A shot rang out, and one of the zombies fell away, its head exploding in a mist of red. Quinn and Erik pulled themselves up, dragging away one of the other zombies, and they grappled it to the ground. Quinn held it down as Erik lay into it. Using the butt of his Glock 22, he beat its head to a pulp, not stopping until all that was left was a pile of mush, its brains splattered across the ground. Jonas yanked Randall away, as Terry mounted the third zombie. He straddled it, and held it down with the shovel.

“Shoot it!”

Mrs Danick didn’t hesitate and sent a bullet through an eye socket. The zombie stilled, and Terry slipped off it, exhausted.

“Jesus Christ,” said Erik. “What the fuck was that, Randall? What were you thinking?”

“I...I thought they needed help. I…”

Jonas could feel the man trembling in his arms, and they slowly sunk to the ground. Randall suddenly arched his back, and let out a cry of pain.

“Randall, what is it?” Jonas lowered the old man to the ground, looking him up and down. Randall abruptly slipped into unconsciousness as the group gathered around him in a circle. Jonas examined the man’s neck first, but there was no sign of any injuries. He patted him down, but he seemed fine.

“Jonas, you might want to step back,” said Erik quietly.

“God damn it,” said Jonas as he stood up. He stood by his wife and took Dakota’s hand. Looking down he could see Randall’s left hand had been almost chewed off. One of the zombies must’ve gotten a good bite as soon as they’d attacked. Randall was missing three fingers, and blood oozed out slowly from the stump. Jonas felt angry that he hadn’t acted more quickly.