A New Death (Savannah's Only Zombie Novel) (3 page)

“Why am I even bothering?” He asked out loud.

He first dialed his father’s cell number. Straight to
voicemail. He then redialed his home phone. Answering machine.

“Typical Dad,” he sighed.

Regardless of how he felt about his father, the man was now
the only family nearby. He would have to go find him and see if he was okay. Or
still alive for that matter.

Fantastic...

Jeremy took a deep breath before unlocking the door.
Stepping outside, he anticipated the worst, but was only greeted by the same
grisly scene from earlier. There were no more dead wandering around, just the
ones who Jeremy beheaded earlier. He picked up the rusty, bloody machete and
slid it into a strap on his backpack. His bike still lay on its side where he
dumped it. He could take his mother’s car, but that would require him to find
her keys. Avoiding eye contact with his mother’s remains, he picked up his bike,
and began to ride away from his house.

He thought the island was a mess before. It seemed that this
was not going to be a contained incident that some of the media was hoping for.
Things had only progressively gotten worse since he left the store and they
didn’t seem to be getting any better. It seems that middle-class white folk are
not prepared for the “hitting of the fan” kind of scenarios.

SUV’s and soccer-mom vans were everywhere. There were plenty
of people. Living people. But all of them seemed wrapped up in their own
evacuations. Or busy fending off the dead. Most were making do with baseball
bats, garden tools, and other small bludgeons, while a few fortunate souls even
had the occasional firearm. What was once kept for home defense against a
robber or intruder, was now put against an army of dead corpses. Most people
did not stock ammo like that.

There was one group that caught Jeremy’s attention as he
peddled away from his neighborhood. It was a small group of ragtag teenagers,
all wearing biohazard symbols on their clothing. He got a glimpse of one of
their shirts and it read:

“ZOMBIE DEFENSE
SQUAD”

The group was riding around in an old, beat-up pick-up
truck, carrying anything from a machete to a crowbar. One of them, who Jeremy
supposed to be the leader, held a pump-action shotgun, and wore a bandolier of
shotgun shells around his chest. Jeremy watched as they jumped out into a mob
of zombies and began to attack them head on.

“Go for the head!” The leader yelled.

They began to systematically smash in each of the zombies’
heads. One by one, the group of corpses fell. The leader blasted the final
zombie with the shotgun, sending the dead man’s brains splattering against a
mailbox. They all let out a yell of victory.

They were just so preoccupied with their small victory that,
they didn’t see the out of control truck that jumped the curb, and barreled
straight for them.

Jeremy grimaced and turned his head before he could see what
their outcome was, but from the screams he knew it was not good. As he neared the
road he could see that cars were backed up for what looked like all the way off
the island. There were really only three roads off of Wilmington Island and all
ended up on Highway 80.

Being on the bike however, allowed Jeremy to very easily
slip past the traffic. Horns honked, swearing filled the air, and it almost
seemed like a normal traffic jam. He made his way over the bridge, crossing
Turner’s creek. The sun was beginning its descent into the horizon.

Maybe an hour of light left. Not much,
he thought.

The tidal river and marsh seemed so peaceful. It was
completely unaware of the bloodshed and the gruesome violence taking place all
around it. The planet didn’t seem to care that the world was falling apart.
Something Jeremy had driven by so many times before now seemed to cast awe upon
him. The oranges and reds burned brightly over the horizon.

He continued down Johnny Mercer Boulevard, one of the main
roads leading off the islands. Cars lined the road. Looking into the cars,
Jeremy could see that there was a large amount of people who tried to grab
everything and take it with them. So many vehicles stuffed with “things” and
barely room for people. There were those, who being smart, gathered their loved
ones, and quickly left. Unfortunately, those people were stuck in the same
traffic as the assholes that brought their golf clubs and 50-inch flat screen
TV’s.

As he peddled up to the intersection at Highway 80, the
reason to why the traffic was so backed up became clear. There had been an
accident. From what it looked like, it seemed that someone in a hurry, tried to
run a red light, and t-boned another car, sending them careening into another.
A lone ambulance was on the scene, the first emergency vehicle Jeremy had seen
all afternoon. And that’s saying something, seeing that he passed a
police
precinct.

Why haven’t there been any cops? Or fireman? Where is all
the help?
He thought to himself.

He remembered
hearing
a fire truck earlier, but other
than that, there had been no government vehicles all afternoon. The thought
didn’t make any sense, but he grew distracted with what was unfolding in front
of him.

The paramedics were busy trying to resuscitate one of the
victims. A white sheet covered one body on a roller-gurney. The others were
still in their cars, trapped by their seatbelts. Grey smoke billowed from the
hood of one of the cars. A few bystanders were trying to help and get the
trapped people out.

The white sheet on the gurney stirred. The paramedics,
unaware, did not notice the corpse sit up, the sheet falling off to reveal a
gruesome torso wound from the accident. Something was lodged deep in the man’s
ribs. The medics must have deemed it a fatal wound. And normally, it would have
been. But “normal” was different now. “Normal” did not mean the same thing it
meant only a few hours ago.

Jeremy watched in horror as the zombie with the torso wound
shambled over to the paramedics, sinking its teeth into one’s neck. The victim
they were trying to resuscitate revived, but not how they were used to. It
quickly grabbed hold of the second paramedic and began to rip at her. The
bystanders, who stopped to help, turned and saw what was happening. One froze,
while the other two ran to help the medics. The one who froze began to vomit
uncontrollably.

Panic. At this point, everyone else stuck in traffic saw
what was happening. Cars began to bump into each other, trying to push their
way out. One finally jumped a curb and pulled straight into the intersection.
The driver struggled to regain control of the vehicle but instead drove
straight into the helpful bystanders. More panic.

Jeremy tore his eyes away and began to peddle feverishly.
There was nothing he could do. There was part of him that wanted to stay and
help somehow, to help those people but a stronger urge to stay alive kicked in.
Shame began to set in as well, but he just as quickly pushed it away. There was
no time for shame. He had to stay alive. His father’s house was on Dutch
Island, which by boat would have been maybe a five minute journey. But he
didn’t have a boat, he had a bicycle. So, good old fashioned roads it was then.
And it was getting dark. Fast.

Huge, majestic Live Oak trees were something Savannah was
well known for. Their trunks could easily be the width of a full grown man and wider.
The branches themselves could be trees in their own right. These trees were
hundreds of years old, scattered throughout the low country. The same trees
that welcomed settlers in from The Old World and that young Native American
children would have played under. Spanish moss hanging from almost every inch,
gently swaying in the salty breeze coming in off the marsh.

But right now
, Jeremy thought.
Right now, they’re
blocking what little light I have left.

It was true. The last tiny bit of light that was left as the
sun finished its dip into the west was now hidden behind the massive trees.
Street lights were kicking on up and down the streets.

At least there’s still power.

With the rate things had been going, Jeremy almost half
expected the power to go out after he said that. It didn’t. He reminded himself
that while it might seem like he was in some horror movie, this was
unfortunately real life. And much like real life, Victory Drive was slam packed
with cars.

He decided to cut through the surrounding neighborhoods and
try to avoid the more main roads. Turning off Victory, he passed the gas
station where every day after school he would stop with his friends and get a
69 cent fountain drink. The pumps were packed, people trying to fill up on gas
and get out of town. Another advantage of the bike was not having to worry
about fuel. The thought almost brought a smile to Jeremy’s face, except he
would need a certain type of “fuel” soon. Food.

Continuing down the road, he passed his old high school,
Johnson High. He slowed down, taking in the school for what could be the last
time. Jeremy didn’t really like or dislike his high school experience. He was
not one of those people who looked back on the “glory days,” but at the same
time there was a small part of him that missed the simplicity of life then.
Graduating for Jeremy meant growing up quickly. While most of his friends went
off to a distant college or other adventures, Jeremy was stuck in Savannah
working. All of that was long gone now.

“Cutting through Savannah State would make the most sense, I
can get to La Roche from there, and that’ll take me straight to Dad’s,” he
said, working it out loud as he went.

When he got to the college, he expected the worst. But in
reality, it looked abandoned. Which was strange, seeing that it was the middle
of the semester. He saw a few corpses wandering around, but other than that,
the place was a ghost town.

Maybe everybody got out of here in time. It is a
Thursday. They could just be all gone.

That was what he hoped. The dead there did not look like
college students. More like they wandered in from the surrounding
neighborhoods. One stood out in particular.

It, he, whatever it was now, was an older man, maybe
mid-fifties. He was wearing patterned pajama pants, a white tank top, and a
dark colored robe. He shuffled around in his slippers. This man was just going
about his normal evening routine, and then BAM! Zombie apocalypse. The thought
began to creep into Jeremy’s mind that things will never be the same again.

Maybe the Government will figure out a cure or fix this
somehow, but for a lot of people, this was going to a have a lasting impact.
You will never forget the time when your loved ones tried to eat you in your
living room. Or the time you saw your mother torn to pieces.

Jeremy tried to push the thought from his mind. Too many
thoughts, too much thinking. It was all too deep and dark to dwell on right
now. He had to focus. He made his way safely through the college without
confrontation and found himself on the road he was aiming for. The sun was
completely set now, street lights the only present source of illumination. The
darkness made Jeremy nervous. He pressed on. There was large Baptist church to
his right. He’d never been there, but his mother only had kind things to say
about it. She didn’t attend there herself, but had gone to some of their
special events.

Again, all of that was suddenly thrust into the past. How
quickly the present evaporated into the past. Jeremy shook his head. He had to
refocus; all of this thinking was taking him off the task at hand. And that was
finding his father. And staying alive. He didn’t really care for his father,
but he was family, and all Jeremy had left now. That is, if the man was still
alive.

With all the thinking that he was doing, Jeremy didn’t
notice the large group of zombies in front of him in the middle of the road.
They saw him however and began to hobble in his direction. It was then that he
noticed them noticing him and he brought the bike to a screeching halt. It was
too much of a sudden stop, because with the weight of the backpack, it sent him
spilling over the handlebars, and dumping the bike. It slid out behind him,
putting him in between the zombies and the bike.

Jeremy hit the ground hard. As he came to a rolling stop, he
winced through the pain, and tried to do a quick head count.

Five, no, six of them. There were six of them.

All moaning and jawing towards him. He had taken on three of
them, but this was twice that many, and he was not feeling the same surge of
adrenaline he had felt then. The rage. This time he only felt fear.

Jeremy ran in the direction of the church, leaving the bike,
because the dead were gaining on him. Maybe he could get inside and barricade
himself in. It was just like the horror movies this time. This was the scene
where the girl was running away from the monster, and no matter how fast she
ran away, the monster somehow seemed to catch up. Jeremy was the girl.

There was a rather tall, iron gate surrounding the church
property. Every ten to fifteen feet, there would be a large brick column, and
then more iron fence. The tops of the iron bars were tipped with sharp looking
ends.

Yes, that screams friendly
, he thought.

Whatever the purpose for the large gate, it did not change
the fact that he was smack dab between the iron fence and a large group of
things that only wanted to devour him.

Talk about a rock and hard place,
his sarcasm
whispered.

There was no way he could fit between the bars; they were
too narrow. And there was no way he was jumping that thing. He ran along the
side of the fence, hoping to find an opening or a gate or something that would
let him get through. Nothing. And then Jeremy did the worst thing possible.

He tripped.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Is this a movie?!” he
yelled.

A lone zombie had pulled ahead of the pack. His decomposing
legs must have been a little fresher than the others. Very quickly, he was on
top of Jeremy. When he fell, the corpse lurched forward and grabbed the boy.
Jeremy held it off; its jaw’s drooling and snapping back and forth. Back and
forth. The drool was cold and thick. He pushed the thing away from him as far
as he could, noticing that the others were getting closer.

BOOM!

The zombie’s head exploded into a splash of cerebral mass
and goo. Jeremy looked up towards the fence and saw the figure of a man
standing there, the business end of the shotgun pointed where the zombie’s head
once was.

“RUN HIJO! KEEP TO THE FENCE AND I’LL COVER YOU!” the man
yelled.

Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He threw the headless body off and
scrambled to his feet, breaking out into a full sprint along the fence. He
heard another blast from the shotgun and a thud. Another zombie fell.

Four left,
he counted in his head.

He did not dare turn to count, but continued to run full
speed. His days in cross-country were beginning to pay off. His breathing
became steady and focused.

“A LITTLE FURTHER AND THERE’S THE GATE!”

Jeremy began to feel his lungs burn and his legs ache. It
had been a while since he ran this intensely. He did not have much more to
give. A few more feet. Another blast behind him. He reached the gate and flung
it open. As soon as he was inside, the man slammed the gate shut and threw a
chain around it. He then locked it with a keyed lock. The last three zombies
clawed through the iron fence, the chain holding the gate shut. They could not
get through.

“Quick. Follow me,” the man commanded sharply.

Jeremy did not argue with him. The man led him up to a
smaller church building and to a door that had been boarded up with plywood.
After they entered, the man turned and locked the door behind them. They went
up some stairs and into what looked like the office of one of the pastors.
There was a small, wooden desk with two arm chairs sitting in front of it and a
small, well-used couch against the far wall. The man again closed the door
behind them and locked the door.

Jeremy watched as the man walked across the room to the
window and began to peer out through the blinds. He was dressed in all black.
Black slacks and a black dress shirt. He was also wearing a white collar around
his neck.

The man was a priest.