Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville (5 page)

Joey mowed down more of them as he swerved away, smoke billowing from the tires.  He tore through the lot, bumping and bouncing over bodies, and swung out into the street.  He punched the gas; the engine whined in protest.

"Come on, you piece of shit!"  Joey white-knuckled the wheel, sweat pouring down his neck and back.  He crushed the pedal down, trying to drive it through the floor, but the truck wouldn't break fifty.  "It figures the only car I ever steal is the one that
can't break any speed limits!
"

Joey didn't slow up as he approached Market Circle--a broad roundabout lined with restaurants, small businesses, and bars.  The light was red when he spun through, following the roadway around the multi-level parking garage in the center of the circle. 

He turned the corner at the entrance to the garage and smashed into a wall of bodies and vehicles.  The truck wouldn't stop; momentum carried him forward and Joey's torso was crushed against the wheel, knocking the wind out of him.

He gasped; the zombies fought through the debris, homing in on him.  There were so many of them, and they were dressed to kill.  Blood dripped from painted lips and ran red over the collar of hundred-dollar shirts.  Joey watched the nightlife of Wooneyville in their element. 

The three-story nightclub, Riverfront, was dead ahead.  To the right of Riverfront ran the Blackstone River, complete with a fifty-foot waterfall.  He heard the roar of thousands of gallons hammering on rock.  There was no way over the bridge, no way back to his apartment--not in a truck, anyway.

He leaned back in the seat, rubbing tender ribs.  He saw stars swirling at the edges of sight. 

They closed in… no less than a hundred of them.  As a clump of zombies broke apart around a tangle of vehicles, Joey spotted Dana's car.  The booger was wrapped around a telephone pole at the mouth of the bridge; the door was open, the interior lights on. 

But he didn't see a nurse's uniform among the zombies.

All right you fuckheads
.  Joey kicked the door open, biting back the pain as he jumped down from the truck. 
I won't be an easy meal
.

They swarmed around him.  The Glock fired in rapid succession; round after round found its mark, puddying zombie heads and lighting up the night.  The magazine clinked to the ground and Joey popped another in the handle.

He reached to his hip--the machete was gone, still stuck in a head somewhere near Kelly's house.  Joey gripped the Glock in both hands. 

BA-BANG! BANG-BANG!

He backed up as the zombies pressed in; he blasted the runners first, trying to keep an equal distance on all sides.  Another clip clicked in place--he had three more left.  There were more hungry maws than bullets.

A zombie broke through the knot of shamblers and stacked headless bodies; it ran with abandon straight for Joey.  He turned the gun but knew there wasn't enough time to aim.  The shot caught the zombie's shoulder and spun it around as it impacted on Joey's left leg.  They sprawled to the ground--it was within arm's reach.

He kicked it in the face once, twice, and third time the heel caved in the zombie's cheek and split the jaw off.  It rose up on both knees as another fast-mover barreled out of the throng.  Joey fired at the kneeling zombie, sending its brains skyward in a pussy, chunk-filled stream. 

He was on his feet when the second runner pounced on him, snapping ferociously with Joey's forearm wedged under its chin.  Joey shoved it back and fired, blowing its face off.  The shambling, staggering horde closed to within ten paces.

BA-BANG! Click-click-click
…

"Shit!"  He worked the action, ejecting the dud round.  "Fuckin' reloads!" 

He kicked a zombie back, blew its head into pieces, and emptied the rest of the magazine into the closest zombies.  He slid one of the last two clips in and hit the release.

The quick slap of wet feet alerted him to a running flesh-eater; he looked left and saw a gaggle of zombies shimmying down the garage ramp from the second level.  The fast-mover was out in front, arms wind-milling and eyes rolled back.  It wore a suit; the tie hung limp, extending from a shredded throat.

Joey searched around for an escape route.  Aside from going back, there was no way over the river and to his neighborhood--except for the footbridge!  He fired a shot, hit the sprinting zombie in the guts, and made for the narrow walkway extending across the river.

There was a short rectangular dock, used for riverboat tours, and a stairway leading up to the narrow bridge.  The whole structure was rusty and in desperate need of repair, but it looked like a heavenly highway to Joey.

He was halfway across when the zombie he shot in the stomach appeared behind him, moaning and vomiting blood.  Joey faced him, waited a split second, and fired: the shot hit between the eyes, blowing the back half of the creature's head into the river below.  The carcass skidded to a halt and tumbled over the side.

He descended the far side stairs, tripping on the last step and sprawling to the pavement.  The Glock bounced away.  Joey pushed himself up; blood trickled from cuts and scrapes on his arms, and his elbows felt raw.  His right knee throbbed; red splotches shone through his pants.

Zombies ambled out from a run-down apartment building thirty feet away. 

He reached for his Glock but was bowled over by an one-armed zombie, veins and muscle fibers dangling from the stub.  Joey managed to turn and push the fiend's face away. 

He wrestled to his feet, kicking and shoving the creature off.  He grabbed a hand-sized rock and pounded the zombie's skull into mush.  It collapsed, head spurting blood on Joey's pants and boots. 

He tossed the rock, picked up his Glock, and dispatched the shambling zombies with four quick shots. 

He stood for a moment, watching blood run down his pants, arms, and off the end of his fingertips. 

Joey holstered the Glock, yanked a bottle of water from his cargo pocket and drained it in five gulps. 

He hurled the bottle into the river and trudged home. 

CHAPTER 8

Headless and spewing gore, the zombie carcass flopped over the curb and settled in the gutter.  Joey locked the last magazine into place and released the slide; he had four empty clips in a cargo pocket.

A string of bodies, heads blasted off by 10mm rounds, littered Joey's path from the river to the apartment blocks.  He had been in no great hurry, sometimes jogging and sometimes dragging his feet.  Every inch of his body felt beaten and bruised… run over by a herd of zombies.

He went past the station wagon and glimpsed the bodies of the first two undead he had seen--the big man's entrails still hanging out and fragments of the woman's skull clinging to the rear bumper.

Shouldering the door, Joey burst into the bottom floor of the building, gun ready.  It was quiet; he strained for any noises.  Joey was too tired to avoid making noise: his feet pounded up the steps--nothing stirred.  He rounded the hallway corner and stopped in front of his apartment door.

I don't even know if she's here
.  He closed his eyes, sighing and feeling his bones creak. 
I don't even know if she's alive
.  He lowered the gun and fished in his pocket for the house keys.  His fingers felt numb and raw; he fumbled the keys and dropped them on the concrete floor--the noise was ridiculously loud.

"What the shit."  He bent down and snagged them, making a jangling racket in the corridor. 

Before he got up, the gunshot went off.  Wood fragments from the door sprayed over his head and back, and the cement wall behind him spat rocky chunks at his feet. 

Joey stayed down and pressed himself against the wall to the right of the door.

Another shot punched through the door, six inches lower than the first; if he hadn't moved, the bullet would've hit him square in the face.

"Hey!" He damn near screamed--no way he was going to get shot in front of his own apartment after the hell he'd been through.  "Stop fuckin' shooting at me!  I'm not a damn zombie!"

"Joey?"  It was Dana's voice.  "Joey, baby, is that you?!"

"Yes it's me!  You almost fuckin' killed me, baby!"  He stood up and approached the door.  "I'm coming in now.  Point the gun somewhere else!"

"Hold on, I need to move the dresser." 

Joey heard her straining and grunting.  He heard the sound of something heavy dragging on the hardwood floor.  He thought about the scratch marks on the floor and wondered if the security deposit would cover the damage.  He looked at the bullet holes in the door… and laughed his ass off.

Dana opened the door.  Joey was bent over, laughing like a loon, with tears streaming down his face.  She dashed out and knocked him over, her tongue in his mouth before he could take a breath.

"Easy… baby…" He tried to free his lips and managed to turn away and snag a breath before she continued the attack.  Dana's triple-D bust pressed against his body; his hands started to explore.

Neither one of them stopped to consider the absurdity of their action: softcore porn on the doorstep of a barricaded apartment, zombies eating everyone in sight, and loaded guns in hand or within reach.  Buttons were starting to come off when the first moaning echoed up the stairs.

"Fuck!" They both yelped.  Joey tried to get up first, knocking Dana to the side, but his hand was twisted in her bra-strap.  They twisted around on the floor in a wrestling display as a tall, lanky zombie appeared on the landing. 

There was more groaning, gurgling, and hissing come from the lower floor.  The lanky zombie staggered forward, left foot at an awkward angle and blood oozing from its nose.

Dana grabbed Joey's Glock and fired: the shot took off the zombie's right leg at the knee.  Joey extricated his hand from Dana's bra, took the gun from her, and fired a shot into the zombie's forehead.  A cone of thickened goo splattered two more zombies that had appeared on the landing.

"Get inside!"  Joey got to his feet, lifting Dana by her armpit, and took aim. 
I'm glad I bought night sights
, he thought.  The hallway lit up as fire spat from the muzzle; both zombies toppled backwards, leaving swaths of brain and skull across the floor and walls.

They slammed the door shut and shoved the oak dresser against it.  Joey picked up the heavy nightstand from the parlor, shoving it across the top of the dresser.  He backed away, breathing hard, and tucked the Glock in his waistband.

Dana wrapped her arms around Joey's waist. 

"That was close," she whispered. 

"Yeah it was.  Figures we can't even fuck without being interrupted by these pricks."  Joey turned around and clutched Dana against his chest, stroking her blood-streaked hair.  They had a moment of silent caressing--but just a moment.

The door lurched and low moans punctuated the thudding. 

"Should we board it up?"  Dana asked, turning her face up to Joey.  Dirt, blood, and tears had painted a fitting horror-movie mask on her.  Her bright blue eyes were alive and shining. 

Joey smiled and touched her button nose.  Her question disappeared for a moment as he touched her face.  "I've been looking for you all morning, baby.  To actually hold you, un-zombified, and feel your warm body is…" He fumbled a word two before continuing, "Fuck it, it's indescribable!"  He kissed her for a long while.

The door lurched again.  Several groaning sounds came from the hallway.

"I'm getting so sick of these ass-hats," Joey said between clenched teeth.  "They're really pissing me off." 

"Hell yes," Dana said, nodding in agreement.  "At first I was scared shitless, but then I started to get mad.  They just kept popping up everywhere.  I think they're attracted to the smell of blood and to sounds."

"They are."  Joey looked at the door; it rattled again, shifting the furniture.  "We can't stay here.  Let's get everything we can carry and head to my parents' house.  All of my guns are in Hank's safe."

"Okay.  I have a car in the back, but it's almost out of gas and one of the tires is all fucked up."  Dana frowned.  "I hit one of those things and it got stuck under my car."

Joey chuckled.  "At least you tried.  Better it than you."

Dana stripped off her dirty clothes, standing naked in the muted moonlight.  Joey started to pitch a tent.

"Is that for me?"  Dana teased, brushed her bosom against Joey's stomach.  "Can you save some for later?  I might have a hard time enjoying it with that going on."  She waved at the door and sneered.  "Nobody's home, asshole!" 

A naked woman with big tits swearing at a zombie was too much for Joey.  He burst out laughing, bracing himself against the wall. 

"Oh shit… you crack me up, baby."  He brushed tears away.  "Please get some clothes on before I lose control."  He watched her trot into the bedroom, hips swinging and ass bouncing.  "That's wrong!"

She giggled.  "This whole fuckin' day is wrong!"  She slid some clean clothes on.  "I'll tell you this much, though, I'm glad you talked about all this shit.  I mean, all your 'what ifs' and survival shows make a helluva lot more sense now."

"Right?  It doesn't look like too many people were thinking the same way.  Did you see the clusterfuck at the Riverfront club?  How did you get out of there?"

"I ran like hell.  Those things were busy attacking other people who had crashed."  Dana came out of the bedroom with some clothes for Joey and a pair of backpacks.  "People were trying to play demolition derby, freakin' crashing their cars out of the garage.  People--I mean non-zombie people--were getting run over trying to escape.  I hopped in an abandoned car and floored it."

"Holy shit."  Joey changed his clothes, tossing the tattered and bloodied garments on the floor.  "By the time I got there, nobody was left alive.  I crashed and had to go over the footbridge."

The door banged and banged--the furniture slid an inch or two. 

"There must be quite a few of them out there now," Joey said.  "We can't go that way.  I only have one clip left."

"Yeah, I only have a few shots left in this thing."  She held up the chromed pistol.  "Found it on a dead cop outside the medical center.  I had a crowbar in the booger, but I forgot to take it out of the trunk."