Undead 02 The Undead Haze (28 page)

My vest wasn’t too saturated with water, so I pulled that back on after I shook it out as best I could. It felt better to have
something
protective on instead of walking around in plain clothes.

“You take this shotgun,” Blaze said. “We’ve got thirty rounds. Here’s ammo for that Glock. Can you climb?”

I glanced at the jagged hole she’d created in the side of the tower. A crisp, cold breeze came through. Beyond the shanties, the bright daylight filtered between the evergreens.

Then the pounding downstairs reached its crescendo, followed by a loud bang. It had to be the door downstairs. Enough persistence seemed to get the undead anywhere. Any thought I had of trying to get Blaze to Rambo it down the tower and through the church vanished.

“Yes,” I said, though I meant,
I don’t have a choice
.

“It’s not hard,” she said, stating it more than reassuring me. “There are support planks about a foot apart around the entire building.”

A chorus of clinking caught my attention. I peered around Blaze in time to see her shoving key chains in her coat pockets. There were many sets. Most were wooden bobs, or anything that would float. Definitely the keys to the boats I’d seen on the beach.

I fit the last shotgun shell into my vest and jeans pocket. It took every bit of extra mental power I had to block the thunderous waves of embarrassment flooding me.

Blaze wasn’t interested in waiting. She had an assault rifle slung across her back and a satchel that bulged with ammo boxes. She went first, turning around and picking her footholds carefully.

I came over once the top of her head disappeared from sight. Directly below the tower was the roof of the congregation area and the horde of Zs. She scaled down the wall and gingerly dropped down onto the roof, not turning to see my progress. Blaze crouched and went to the edge of the building.

Unlike her, I didn’t have a shoulder strap on my gun. I called out to let her know I’d have to drop it. Finally ready to co-operate, she caught it when I tossed it down.

No one liked getting left behind. I kicked it into high gear and began climbing. Adrenaline pumped through me, my thoughts of suicide fading by the second. My leg still felt good from the Oxy as I wedged my boot onto the thin protrusions and climbed down. A couple of minutes later, I was on the roof with Blaze.

They were everywhere.

Whatever had distracted the undead—probably the explosion I’d heard earlier—wasn’t enough to keep them away from the church. Some had probably seen Blaze, but the gunshots alone were enough to draw them. The whole town was there.

I’d seen movies like this before. Almost anything that had
of the dead
at the end had a scene that described our situation. Slows pressed up against each other and the building, five deep. Runners paced on the outskirts, some hitting each other or growing frantic at the sight of us, blood spewing from their mouths as they howled. How many times had I seen this in the theaters? End of the flick and the last characters were surrounded.

“Not many behind the church. They’re trying to get in through the front doors,” Blaze said.

I gingerly crossed the roof, painfully aware of the creaking boards underneath me. Sure enough, there were less on the other side.

One of them looked up at me, raised a gnawed hand, and groaned. The rest followed.

I jumped when I heard a gunshot and turned in time to see Blaze aim again. Another shot cracked.

“I’ll take out the runners. Figure out a way to draw the ones behind us to the front,” she ordered. “Trust me. I’ve got a plan. Just do it.”

The authority in her voice let me know the plan wasn’t up for debate. I didn’t need to have every detail explained, but a basic overview would’ve been nice.

There were sixty, maybe more, in front of the church. Behind that there were fifteen at most. We couldn’t just climb down. They’d see us right away and make it over before we could get to the ground, even though they were slow.

I didn’t need to think about what to do. It happened naturally. As I stood there, they congregated around my area, moving in from the sides. I moved a couple feet to the right. Sure enough, the Zs followed me, as though they had a chance of magically levitating upward.

That was all it took. I took a few steps to the right and led the group around the corner. Blaze’s gunfire excited them, too, and seemed to encourage them. It took a while, longer than I wanted, but after she stopped firing eventually they joined the mass in front. If I could gather them far away from the side we were going to climb down on, Blaze would have a clean exit on the opposite side. Once I left their sight, they’d disperse and try to follow me back, but in the time it took them to get around the building I’d be climbing down then booking it out of there.

“Huh,” I mused aloud. “Easier than I thought it would be.”

“We’re not in the clear yet,” Blaze said, shooting down my optimism. “They won’t focus on us for long. I’ll go first. Toss your gun to me then get your ass moving.”

I gave her a minute head start to climb down the back of the building, shouting and waving my gun around to keep the Zs interested, then crossed the roof. A loud splitting made my heart sink. My foot dropped through the roof, all the way to the knee.

“Blaze! I’m stuck!” I grunted as I tried pulling it out. My wiggling dropped me farther in, all the way to the hip. My left knee was bent hard. I tried to push myself up and out. “Wait, come back!”

I strained to hear her over the wild moans of the undead, but there was nothing. Something brushed up against the tip of my boot. I knew what was beneath me. What was waiting to drag me down. I visualized them getting a hold of me, pulling hard enough that my entire body broke through the roof, snapping in places it shouldn’t…

If Blaze was coming back, she’d be here by now. I strained upward as far as I could to see over the edge of the flat roof. In the distance, Blaze came into view as she dodged between two shanties towards the beach. Once there, she’d use one of those boat keys to get off the island. Far, far away from me.

Panic overtook me. I used every bit of strength I had and planted my hands on either side of the roof then pushed.

When I was a kid, my grandma told me stories of women lifting cars to save their babies, or men being capable of extreme acts of strength in order to save someone.
It’s fight or flight, Cyrus
, she would say.
If they decided they had nothing to live for, or nothing to fight for, they’d run away and regret it their whole lives.

I didn’t believe women lifted cars to save babies because, hell, why would they
ever
need to lift a car off a baby, but the main idea was what stuck with me. At some points in life, you have to decide if you are going to whimper like a little bitch and die, or—in the words of my selfish, abandoning friend Blaze—cowboy the fuck up.

Exposed nails and sharp pieces of ply-board tore through my pants, scraping me from hip to knee. As my leg came free and I looked down the gaping hole, a mass of undead clawed at each other trying to get me, arms outstretched.

I wanted to yell in happiness, or spit in their faces, but my body pumped endorphins into my bloodstream so fast I felt disoriented. I went on auto pilot and staggered to the edge of the roof, tossing the shotgun into the mud as far away as I could before I climbed down.

Slows lurched around the corners of the church and came from the alleys between the shanties. They were closing in on me fast, so if I didn’t make a run for it now, I’d die.

Flight or fight, Cyrus.

I felt warm blood soaking my jeans where the cuts were particularly bad. I gritted my teeth, accepting the pain, and jumped the last couple feet to the ground.

When I turned to run for my gun, I bumped into two of them. They’d closed in on me faster than I predicted.

One was a woman in a soiled dress, dead longer than most. Her lips were chewed off. Teeth were broken or missing. Next to her was a man, his arms torn off at the elbows and half his body burnt to a crisp.

The lady was slow, so I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten to me so quickly, but the man was fast. His reflexes were twitchy, and since he had no arms he flung himself at me, head first, and snapped his jaws.

I barreled between the two and lunged for my shotgun, nearly tripping over myself as I lifted it and turned. I fell flat on my ass, but facing the oncoming undead. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

Stupid, stupid! Pump the gun!

I shivered with delight then I aimed, pressing the butt of the shotgun into my shoulder, and pulled again. The top of burnt man’s head exploded. The area from his eyes up disappeared. Brain and blood splattered onto the church wall behind him. He fell to his knees, unmoving.

More flooded in from the front of the church. I got to my feet, saving my shells and choosing to run, or rather jog with a limp, into the shantytown.

But they really were everywhere. A handful of them closed in from the sides, coming around the corners of the little huts. They clogged the alley I planned on going down. I raised my shotgun and mowed them down, aiming for heads, but sometimes only hitting bodies.

Blood and gore sprayed the mud. Chunks of flesh blew off torsos and extremities, spattering other undead and buildings. Those who I didn’t put down permanently got knocked over by the body shots. Four pumps of the shotgun later, I stepped over dead bodies and kept going in the direction Blaze went.

Nothing had ever been so clear. Regardless of what happened so far, in that moment I knew exactly what I needed to do. Fight my way through the onslaught of zombies and get to the docks. Take Dr. Bank’s boat and leave. With or without Blaze. After that, I didn’t give a fuck.

I rounded a corner and came face to face with two slows. They took me by surprise. I managed to get off one shot, which obliterated the Zs face in a flourish of red. Its companion grabbed the shotgun and stepped in closer, the other hand stretching towards my throat.

I pulled the trigger, since the Z had pulled the barrel towards his body. The round left a gaping hole in his stomach, pushing him back. His grip was too strong, though. Maggots and chunks of who knows what plopped out of his mouth as he opened it to groan.

I released my hold on the gun and used one hand to keep him at bay, my hand planted firmly on his chest. It was risky, but I didn’t have a better idea. The bastard was heavy. I withdrew the Glock and brought it under his chin.

Boom.

A fountain of brain spewed from the exit wound. He dropped. I put the Glock away and pried the shotgun out of his iron grip.

From close by came a loud metal-on-metal squeak. It echoed through the town, undoubtedly drawing the attention of any zombie in the area. Down the street, a shanty door flung open and a very alive family of three dashed out.

The gate
, I thought.
Blaze got it open
.

I continued jogging, occasionally glancing back to see the oncoming horde squeezing through the alley. Blaze hadn’t taken out every runner, and they were trying to push their way through the thicket of slows in front of them.

A minute later I cleared the shantytown and came upon the gate. It was huge, made of welded steel, and was slid to the side.

The family I’d seen struggled with two Zs just outside the gate. The dead would win that battle. They’d already taken down the mother, and the father was trying to pull the feasting undead off her. Redness spread from his neck down his shirt. He’d already been bitten. The little boy stood still, watching the scene hopelessly.

But it wasn’t my problem. They were gone. I rushed past them and cleared the gate.

* * *

In front of me was nothing but trees, and through them I saw the Puget Sound glistening in the midday winter sun. The fresh scent of pine and the saltiness of an ocean breeze replaced the nasty rot of Fort Christian.

The vegetation grew thinner on this side as I followed a path to the beach. Grass and dirt gave way to rocks and pebbles. In the distance were the docks. Yachts and motorboats bobbed in the water, all safely roped down.

Queen Banks,
I thought as I trekked through the sand.
That’s the boat I’m looking for. And where’s Blaze?

My boots thudded against the wooden dock. I stopped and strained to listen. Under the sound of the water and boats bumping against each other was a familiar sound. Pulleys. Wind in sails.

There was movement at the end of the makeshift dock. I moved low and quiet until I could see.

Sure enough, it was Blaze. She prepped a sail boat for launch. I’d killed two birds with one stone, since the boat she was on was
Queen Banks.
Dr. Banks said it would be a sailboat and that was the only one around
.
Blaze had the keys to all the other boats, but I could see why she chose this one. When it ran out of gas, she’d have no issue traveling by wind.

I had the upper hand this time. So why was
I
sneaking around when
she
was the one who’d left me behind? Blaze didn’t make any effort to save me, whereas when she got lost I at least tried.

I stopped hiding and straightened up, walking straight for her.

Fight or flight, Cyrus.

Blaze saw me right away. Dropping the rope in her hand, she drew her assault rifle. “You made it, huh?”

I aimed the shotgun at her, taking every step slowly as I went to the plank. “That was low, Blaze. I thought we had something.”

“Listen, you cocksucker, it’s kill or be killed. How many people have
you
left behind to survive? To get a few extra seconds?”

Many, many people,
I thought
, including your brother.

I came up the walkway. We were mere steps from each other. I watched as her eyes shifted to my side, towards the beach.

“They’re coming out of the forest,” she said, refocusing on me. “If we’re going to—”

Now
I
got to cut her off. “I’ve got the keys to this boat. Truce for now. Let’s get out of here.”