Zombie Fallout 9 (37 page)

“Toss away, fuckers.” I mumbled. Be careful what you wish for. Oh they tossed the zombies all right, but not
at
the fence but rather
over
. I mean not at first. They were having great difficulty judging the appropriate distance, so at first, the majority of the zombies were still being fried, but they were learning. I blew a hole into the first zombie that made it safely over the electrical impediment. Like a damn had been burst or the secret formula for force times trajectory had been discovered, it was no longer raining zombie parts, just zombies, whole, intact, ready-to-kill-and-eat zombies.

Gunfire was everywhere. I'd been moving closer to the fence to get better shots at the zombies coming over. I'd realized too late that I was in grave danger. Out in the middle of the yard, a lone solitary fighting station.

“Talbot, get your fool ass back here!” It was BT. He stood above and behind me, not exactly where I wanted or needed him to be.

An intense spray of bullets came up by my side; it was Dennis. “Come on, man!” He'd given me a precious few feet of free space to tactfully withdraw. The only reason we were still alive was that the zombies had to recover from their short flights. If they had landed feet first and hit the ground running, we'd have already been swarmed over. When my bolt stayed open, I clapped Dennis on the shoulder and pointed to the basement door. He got the message, firing off the remainder of his magazine quickly, leaving an acrid cloud of smoke in his wake and a rising zombie body toll as well. Gary was at a basement window, overseeing our withdrawal. I pushed Dennis through, closed the door, and barred it. I was confident it would hold for a reasonable amount of time against the regular zombies. Any sort of attack by the bulkers and they would breach the basement again.

“Thanks, man,” I told Dennis.

“Anytime. I figured you resurrected me from the dead. I should help you out when I can.”

I smiled. “Gary, I'm going upstairs. See about getting the kids in the shelter. You good?”

He nodded. He looked a little green around the gills but otherwise fine.

“I'll stay too,” Dennis said as he set up shop in the window across from Gary.

Stephanie ushered Porkchop, Sty, Ryan, and Angel to the shelter. Nicole had Wesley and Jess's baby brother, Zachary, in her arms. Carol had Avalyn, and they were on Steph's heels. I kissed my daughter on the top of the head as they went by.

“Where's your mother?”

“On the deck with everyone else,” a clearly tired Nicole answered.

I hoped everyone wasn't on the deck; that would be leaving two sides of the house vulnerable. BT, Mark, Meredith, and even my sister, Lyndsey, had a firing line going. It looked pretty impressive as they mowed through zombies. Steve, Jesse, and Melissa were reloading magazines as fast as their fingers would allow. Bullets were strewn all over the deck. This machine looked very well oiled, and I didn't want to gum up the works; plus, I wanted to find Tracy. I walked back into the living room. The damn cat eyed me warily. We'd not been on good terms since that feline got here. I'd not done anything to the animal. I'd also done nothing
for
the animal, and that probably irked it to no end. It scratched at the basement door.

“You going to the shelter? Probably, smart little vermin that you are.” She hissed at me. “Henry! Riley!” Of course, it was the psychotic lap dog that showed up instead. Ben-Ben had been running so fast he could not stop as he ran headlong into my legs. He shook his head a couple of times and started jumping up and down like mad. I won't swear it on a stack of Bibles, but that bark sounded suspiciously like the word “bacon,” and he just kept saying it. Henry and Riley sauntered in at a much more subdued pace.

“Henry,” I said as I got down on my haunches. “I need you to understand me, okay?”

He licked my face.

“I'll take that as a ‘yes.' Okay mutt, you need to take yourself and your friends and the cat to the shelter. Understand?”

He licked my face again. I opened the door, and the cat bolted down and to the right. The others followed. I stood, and for a split second I swayed, almost as if I was dehydrated on a hot summer day. Zombies had made it inside. The smell was overwhelming. I had a coughing fit. I could almost taste the odor, it was so thick. On the tail end of the funky fragrance, I caught the distinct savoriness of peanut butter. “Fucking Henry.” He'd left me a little present to remember him by.

I went into the kitchen. Justin was at the backdoor on the small porch. Zombies were there. They'd made it about three quarters across the yard. Mad Jack was at the kitchen window, doing his best to help. Not sure how successful he was going to be, though, since he constantly closed his eyes when he pulled the trigger.

“Get in the house, Justin!” This side was a lost cause. “Drop the stairs!”

Being one of the more vulnerable positions, we'd removed the normal stairs and built a set that was not permanently attached to the house. Nancy had not been a very happy camper when we'd drilled two large holes through her walls. These were used to drive thick rebar rods through and into hooks on the breakaway staircase. We'd attached large rings on the inside so there would be a good handhold to pull them loose when the time came.

Justin's look said it all. He didn't want to. I can't blame him. He was the one responsible for having to repair the stairs after every test run, and more than a few steps would invariably break each time. Plus, Travis loved messing with him and would sometimes pull the pins just for the fun of it.

“I'll help you fix them. Just pull the pins!”

Zombies had made it to the first step. Justin jumped in and slammed the door shut. More zombies were on the stairs. He couldn't pull the pin. We'd not taken into account the zombies' added weight putting stress on the bars. I ran over to help. The cords on my neck were pulsing out as I struggled to pull with all my might. We both went over on our asses when we finally yanked it free. We'd have a better chance of finding an honest used car salesman than we would getting that second pin free, now that all that weight was on it. I scrambled up just as the window to the backdoor blew inward from the force of the zombie that smashed into it. I started firing into the door and then higher up. I advanced as I shot.

“New magazine, Justin!” I kept firing and moving closer. I expelled the somewhat used up magazine and placed the new one in. I'd cleared the small porch. I aimed lower into all those that were trying to make it up. Blood coated the wooden steps and railings. Brains and bones were flying. Zombies were falling. When I'd got as many off as I thought we'd be able to, I went back to the ring. Justin was by my side in a heartbeat. I'd killed the closest zombies, but I could not get them off the steps completely. Their dead weight was still going to be a hindrance.

“Watch out!!” Mad Jack said, coming toward us with a huge plumber's wrench.

“What are you going to do with…” I stopped my question when he threaded the handle through the ring.

“Leverage!”

We pulled for all we were worth. The pin, which at first seemed frozen in place, subtly moved and then, as if the dam had been broken, pulled free. All three of us headed for the floor. The heavy end of the wrench collided with the ground not more than a half an inch from my manhood.

“Holy shit, Dad. You all right?” Justin laughed. We heard the wooden staircase come to a thudding crash with the ground.

“I'm fine. Sounds like you're going to have to rebuild the whole thing now.” I got up, avoiding the wrench like it might still try to finish the job. “I'm going to find your mother. You stay put. Make sure these assholes don't find another way in.”

“They can't reach the door now.” Mad Jack said hopefully.

“Yeah, I wouldn't put it past them to rebuild the stairs or maybe even make a pyramid.” I felt bad for dashing his dreams, but it was a reality he had to be aware of.

“We'll hold this spot,” Justin assured me.

“All right, I'm going to track your mother down.”

I exited the kitchen and headed into the living room. Travis, Trip, and Tommy were the only ones there. Unlike every other part of the house, it was relatively quiet here.

Quiet during a maelstrom is not necessarily a good thing.

“Boys?” I asked, coming closer. They were all staring out the windows. Well, sorry, two of them were. Trip was looking at the wall, an unadorned part, no less.

“Shhh, he's in France.” Trip said, turning to me.

“Trip, I said no weed smoking around the kids.”

“One does not simply call Maui Wowie weed!” He took a heavy toke. “Didn't they write a song about this shit? Forget it.”

“And how the hell is Tommy in France?”

“Trance.” Travis shook his head at Trip. “He says Payne and Charity are out there.”

“Is that why you're not firing?”

“Nothing much going on here.”

I peeked out the window. This was the only side of the house that did not have an obvious ingress, and the zombies apparently realized that and were concentrating their efforts elsewhere. I would have liked to send Travis to someplace else to help out, but right now, he was the only trustworthy one in that room. Tommy might as well have been in France for all the input he was offering. Trip was Trip and would do whatever the hell he felt like.

“All right, just stay here and make sure they don't start building ladders or something. Any idea where your mother is?”

Travis pointed upstairs. I took the stairs three at a time. Unlike in the living room, there was all sorts of gunfire going on up there. Ron was in the master bedroom. I could see his profile. He was shooting and crying and occasionally swearing. It was clear to see he was not doing great. I didn't ask him if he needed help because this was how guys worked through things. I mean, generally, it involved punching walls or destroying remote controls, but in this instance, annihilating zombies with intense intolerance seemed to be the best medicine. I left him to his own devices.

I backed out. If he took notice of me, he made no inclination. I took a hard right into what was Nancy's old sewing room, which previous to that had been my deceased niece, Melanie's, room. Maybe there was something about the room, the two prior occupants having passed on. With that thought being processed, I was not happy to see my wife at the window firing repeatedly.

“Took you long enough,” she said without even looking over her shoulder.

“How the hell do you do that?”

She smiled as she turned around. She ejected her magazine and began to refill it.

“You've come a long way,” I told her while she deftly reloaded.

“Everyone safe?”

“Define ‘safe.' Fine, fine. Don't look at me that way. All the kids and the animals are in the shelter.”

“What about our kids?”

“Justin's in the kitchen. Travis is in the living room. So far, we're holding the house.”

“For how long?” She stopped loading to look at me. My guess was to see if I was going to bullshit her.

“We make it through the night, I'd be surprised.”

I don't think she was expecting me to go the complete honesty route, and in reality, I hadn't meant to. If the vamps got into the mix, this could go bad a lot faster, and that was definitely a possibility.

Tracy let an uncharacteristic tear roll down from her eye. She was easily one of the strongest women I'd ever known or would ever know in my life, and for her to cry was unnerving.

“I just thought all of this was over.” She sighed, then sniffed and brought her right hand up to wipe away the offending liquid.

I sat down next to her. There were times when I was supposed to offer advice. This wasn't one of them. She wanted my company more than my responses. Strange how quiet that room got in the midst of a full-scale invasion.

“Funny how before this started, I couldn't tell a magazine from a clip. What ammunition went with what gun or even how to load. Now I can load a thirty-round magazine with 5.56 ball ammunition in under fifteen seconds.”

“Fifteen seconds? Holy shit.”

“Shut up for a second,” she said tenderly. “I can fix just about any jam, and more importantly, I can hit a zombie head at fifty yards almost all the time. I can do all of that, and I'm proud that I can. I just wish I didn't have to.”

I leaned in. “Oh, honey.”

She smacked my arm. “And I blame you, you male chauvinist pig, for not properly teaching Nicole and me all of this before it happened. Had to have an apocalypse before you could be bothered!”

“Is that how you see it?” I laughed. Not too heartily; I wasn't suicidal. “If I remember correctly, my beloved, you wanted nothing to do with it when me and the boys went to the range. You took it upon yourself to take your daughter out shopping. I think you thought you were getting me back for teaching them about firearms. And your daughter was not going to lose out on an opportunity to get a new outfit or pair of shoes just to go hit pieces of paper with bullets.”

“Are you implying that I bribed my daughter?”

“Oh, I don't think I'm
implying
at all. To be truthful, I never really thought the end was going to come, anyway, I just used it as an excuse to get more guns.”

“I knew that. All right, if we're being honest, I want you to know why I finally said yes to you getting that first rifle.”

I perked up. This was news to me. “I thought my valid points made during our argument were the determining factors.”

“Please. When's the last time
that
worked for you?”

“Don't rain on my parade, woman. I thought I actually won an argument.”

“You remember that blue dress I bought?”

“Yeah, you looked fucking delicious in it.”

“It cost more than fifty dollars.”