Killer Z (18 page)
“S
ecure the bus
door,” Larry orders Mark.
A zombie child
near the back of the bus squirms as it reaches for Larry.
“God you’re
ugly,” Larry says and shoots it in the head.
“Is that really
necessary?” Mark asks.
“Yeah it is.
They’re little zombies and will eat us at the first opportunity.”
The bus floor is
sticky with blood. Zombies outside crash into the vehicle. Hundreds of fists
pummel the reinforced windows.
“The door won’t
shut!” Fred yells as a zombie thrusts its head into the bus.
Larry opens the
duffle bag and retrieves a compact shotgun. He pushes Fred into the driver’s
seat and shoves the barrel into a zombie’s mouth.
“Suck on my
little friend,” Larry says.
Boom.
The blast tears
off the zombie’s face and Larry slides the door shut.
“Secure the
windows,” he orders.
Fred, Mark and
Angela crowd into the center isle as zombies pile over each other against the
windows. Grimy, blood covered palms streak the glass. The bus shakes and
rattles. Windows break and Larry discharges the shotgun.
Boom boom boom
.
Cartridges hit
the floor. Angela grabs a gun from the duffle bag and helps Larry.
Pop pop pop
.
“Librarian,
reload this.”
Larry tosses the
empty shotgun to the seat and grabs a handgun.
Mark fumbles with
the shotgun and says, “I don’t know how.”
“Give me that,”
Fred says and takes the shotgun.
Fred locates
shells and reloads the shotgun. Seconds later Larry is tossing him the empty
handgun for reloading.
For every one zombie they shoot three take
their place.
“There’s too
many,” Mark yells.
Fred runs out of
bullets and uses his trusty hammer. The undead weighing down the front window
breaks the glass and they pour inside.
Bang bang pop pop
pop pop bang bang.
“Retreat to the
roof,” Larry orders.
They scramble up
the steps. The upper deck is covered with bricks from the destroyed third arch
of the Old Post Office. An American flag droops into the bus from the balcony.
“It’s the final
showdown boys,” Larry says.
The cop places
various guns and cartridges on the seats and takes a drink of whiskey.
“We can use that
flagpole to climb into the building,” Mark says.
“Let’s do it!”
Angela says and
pops
a few rounds. Her gun clicks empty.
Zombies crawl
over each other until they reach the side railings. Among the first to fall
into the bus is M2. The impersonator groans off key and attacks Angela. Larry’s
gun clicks empty. The impersonator tears his teeth into the flesh surrounding
Angela’s collarbone.
“Mark, help me!”
Angela shrieks.
Mark tries
shooting the gun but the safety is on. He fumbles with the safety button as
Angela wails. Undead fall into the bus around the impersonator and Mark
stumbles backwards.
“No fuckin’ way,”
Fred shouts.
Around the bus
and on the steps are thousands of zombies. Larry pulls out a grenade and tosses
it over the railing.
Kaboom.
The bus
shakes
and everyone is knocked from their feet.
“Get to the
flag,” Fred yells, pointing to the flag balcony.
“Grab as many
guns as you can!” Larry says as he takes out a grenade belt.
Fred grabs a 9mm
Browning and grabs the stunned Mark. Larry lobs another grenade into the horde.
“Climb!” Fred yells
and pushes Mark up climb the pole.
Kaboom.
The
explosion rocks the bus as Mark helps Fred over the broken balcony rail. Larry
and the zombies are tossed like toys as a raging fire engulfs the lower floor
of what was a bus.
Larry
struggles to his feet but a familiar growl stops him in his tracks. A dog lands
on all fours near the cop. He can’t distinguish the dog’s features but
recognizes the pixilated fur. The K9’s eyes are muddied over as blood drips
from her shoulder.
“Pixel?”
Larry is utterly
dumbfounded and lowers his gun in shock. Pixel barks, her tone is deep and
sinister.
“Is that you
Pixel?”
The dog stares at
him for a moment, then snarls and leaps for his throat. Larry raises his arms
to deflect her and the 9mm clatters to the floor. Her razor sharp teeth sink
deeply into his forearm.
“Fuck you,
Pixel,” Larry says and unpins all the grenades with his free hand.
KABOOOOOOM.
The
deafening explosion rocks the Old Post Office as the bus explodes high into the
air and hundreds of zombies are blown to bits and pieces.
M
ark falls on the hard floor below the window with a
thud. The room is large and dark with tables and booths eerily lit by the fire
outside. Smoke from the explosion pours into the window. At the tables zombies
stare blankly at trays while making motions with their hands as if
eating. Others stand in line at the cash registers. To the right
are three zombies gnawing on a corpse. Fred crawls inside next to him and
immediately points his gun at a zombie.
“No,” Mark whispers and places a
cautioning hand on the barrel of Fred’s gun. “Noise alerts them.”
“They don’t smell or hear us,” he
continues after a moment. “The fire must be masking our presence.”
“We’re going to die,” Fred
whispers loudly.
Zombies lift their heads from
their repetitive motions. They groan and one approaches the window. Terrified,
Fred points his gun again.
Ppsh.
The bullet makes a hole in the
zombie’s forehead above the right eyebrow.
“What have you
done?” Mark cries as all the zombies in the cafeteria become agitated. He
points his .22 and successfully downs two undead with a double
pop
.
The last zombie leaps at them.
Ppsh ppsh ppsh
.
Fred successfully hits a vital
spot and the zombie spins and falls. Mark takes aims at the zombie behind the
cash register and shoots it with a single
pop
.
“Look out,” Fred yells as a zombie
swipes at Mark. He grabs its greasy hair and thrusts the pistol into the base
of its neck.
Ppsh ppsh ppsh ppsh
is followed by clicks.
“Look out,” Mark shouts as a
crawling zombie reaches for Fred. He tosses the useless gun away, grabs a tray
and bashes the zombie’s head.
“Cowboy up,” Fred drawls and kicks
the zombie’s face in.
A food prep zombie groans from the
cafeteria’s hot food counter. Mark aims as sweat stings his eyes.
Pop pop pop.
They all miss and the gun clicks
empty. Half a dozen zombies rush out of the kitchen.
“This way,” Fred yells.
They run into a
small private dining room and slam the door shut. The zombies fling themselves
against the sturdy door.
“Maybe they’ll give up after a
while” Mark says as he grabs a table.
The thuds become a steady stream
of punches as they shove the heavy oak table against the door. They sit on the
floor.
“We’re trapped
like cats in a box,” Fred says.
“Unlike Skinner’s
cat, I don’t want to die in the box.”
“I don’t know who
this Skinner is. Can they knock down the walls?”
“I don’t think
so.”
Fred takes out
his hammer and rages, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“And go where?
Where do I go when this is done?”
“What do you
mean?”
“I lost my fiancé,
my parents, and my entire apartment building yesterday.”
“I feel for you.
I lost my son today.
“That blows.”
“You know what’s
worse?” Fred says. “I don’t know what’s happening to my wife or other
children.”
“Where are you
from?”
“Twin Cities, Minnesota.”
The pounding at
the door lessens as a couple of zombies wander off. The air in the room becomes
stuffy.
“Why did you come
to D.C.?” Mark asks.
Fred pulls out a cigarette and
pats himself for a lighter. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke. The cop was shady
but was a good shot.”
“I saw a dog take him down. I
don’t normally smoke but could use a drag.”
“No problem. I
was hoping to find my grandson in the capital if you really wanted to know why
I’m here,” Fred mutters as he takes a long drag and hands Mark a cigarette.
“Did you find your grandson?”
“Yes and no. The marines evacuated
him to a bunker in Virginia called Greenbrier.”
“Sounds like the famous hotel
congressmen go to.”
“How am I supposed to find him? I
lost my truck and son…”
“Hey, stop this negative shit.
We’re not going to let some mindless zombies stop us from getting out of the
city. I’ve seen you swing that hammer, you’re a natural zombie slayer.”
“Yeah, well I suppose I’ve gotten
practice using tools with Coca Cola over the years,” Fred says.
“I need a weapon,” Mark says.
“Take my flashlight,” Fred says,
handing him a heavy police issue flashlight.
“Thanks. I guess
I can bash them over the head when the batteries run low.”
The zombies stop
pounding at the door but they can still be heard.
“There’s too many
zombies downstairs and outside to try to escape the building,” Mark says as he
turns on the flashlight. “Maybe we should try the tower.”
“Better then
dying in here I suppose,” Fred says.
Mark braces himself behind the
door as Fred opens it and tosses a screwdriver against the far wall. As the
zombies move toward the sound they slink out of the lunchroom and run down the
hallway.
Fred trips over a
garbage can. An orchestra of undead groaning lifts from the courtyard below. By
the sound there are dozens of them. Ahead of them a zombie in a guard’s outfit
turns around. It doesn’t have time to even lift its arms before Fred smashes
the hammer into its forehead.
“We got maybe a
minute or two until they get up here,” Mark says.
“There’s too many
to fight, run!” Fred yells.
Mark picks up a
fire extinguisher and swings it at a zombie near the maintenance stairwell
door. The metal canister bounces of its skull and sends the undead to its
knees. Zombies from the cafeteria rush into the hallway and block any retreat.
“Mark, what happens after we get
to the roof?”
“We can make a beacon, maybe
signal a passing helicopter.”
As they run up the stairwell Mark
finds the discarded maul and fire axe used earlier.
Fred lifts the fire axe and
whistles in appreciation and says, “Look at this baby.”
Zombies thud up the stairs behind
them. As two zombies reach the landing, Fred uses the flat of the axe to push
them back downstairs. Mark directs Fred to the manmade hole in the wall and
they crawl in.
They run up granite steps as
zombies pour through the hole in the wall. A zombie groans under a framed
poster of the original clock tower. Mark swings the maul midlevel and breaks
its ribs. They continue to run.
They dash past the iron mesh
elevator pit and run to the roof. Panting, Mark points to a corridor leading to
the Congress Bells and outside. They enter the observation deck.
Iron bars in windows overlook the
capital. In the center of the room are building artifacts and lockers.
“Mark, it’s a dead end!”
“Help me pry the door open,” Mark
says as he struggles with a small door access door.
A padlock and chain holds the door
shut. Zombies rush past the Congress Bells and are feet away.
“I don’t want to die,” Fred yells
as slams the axe into the padlock.
The axe glances off the metal and
clatters to the floor.
“Screw you, damn zombies,” Mark
screams and throws a garbage can at the monstrosities.
The can bounces off the Congress
bell. An earth shattering tone fills the tower. The undead lift their hands to
ears and fall to the ground. Fred picks up the heavy maul and swings it at the
padlock, finally breaking it.
“Go figure, they hate bells,” Mark
says.
Fred opens the door and they
escape onto a six inch ledge. There are only inches to maneuver. Mark tries
pulling the small door shut but zombies rip it away. Through the metal bars
they see the observation deck filling with Zs. Before them government
buildings lie empty and abandoned. The White House billows smoke into the
heavens as it smolders to the ground.
Mark and Fred take positions on
either side of the small door and push charging zombies off the ledge with
minimum effort. Many plummet off the ledge without being touched. After dozens
have fallen Mark is finally able to yank the small door closed.
“What will you do if we survive?”
Fred asks.
“Maybe find a new library and
rebuild.”
“We have a library in the Twin
Cities.”
“You know we’re not surviving
this, right? I was thinking of jumping instead of letting them eat me.”
Fred asks, “You believe in God?”
“I do, but I’m not religious.”
Fred offers his hand and asks,
“Want to pray with me?”
“You know church has no place in
the state, right?” Mark jokes.
“Sometimes it’s needed.”
“I’m not against it,” Mark says,
taking Fred’s hand. “Go ahead.”
“Lord God and Jesus,” Fred prays,
his voice goes solemn. “Please give us a lending hand. I don’t understand the
lesson in all this but we really need you. Amen.”
“Amen.”
In the distance
there is a humming. Then a small dot appears in the horizon. Fred opens his
eyes and smiles. Mark waves his hands as the search and rescue helicopter
swoops into view. The helicopter lowers a rope and two soldiers point guns at
them as they are raised on board.