Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor (5 page)

"Tell me about it!"  Dana groaned.  "I'd kill for a steak and cheese!  These fuckin' zombies fuckin' fucked up everything!"

Matty grinned.  "How many f-bombs can you fit in one sentence, Dana?"

"You wanna find out?"  She giggled.  "That's nothing; you should hear my mother when she's on a roll."

"You two done screwing around?" Joey emerged from the forest with an armful of branches; he dropped them by the fire and sat down next to Dana.  "Try to get some rest.  I think we should leave soon."

"I'm going to fill the can." Matty scooped up the coffee can and headed off toward the lake.  "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, just wait longer."

Dana chuckled, but Joey remained stoic. 

Snap out of it, bro
, Matty thought;
we need you
.

A pale pink light colored the horizon.  Matty knelt by the lakeshore and dipped in the can.  The water resembled black glass: every hue of color, every cloud, and every tree along the shore reflected on the still surface.

Suddenly, a burst of bright red flashed on the serene water; a bulb of crimson light streaked in Matty's direction.  He looked up and saw the flare rising in the distance; it came from somewhere across the lake.

Double Brook!
He turned and bolted back to the camp. 
Someone's alive in there!

Crashing through the bushes and low-hanging branches, he staggered into camp; Joey stood behind the fire, pistol gripped in both hands. 

"Whoa!" Matty held up his hands, splashing water over his pants.  "It's me!  There's a flare coming from the south—from the casino, I think."

They followed Matty through the trees; the flare hadn't been visible from the camp.  Side by side, they stood on the shore and watched the flare float lazily toward the ground.

"I can't believe there are people still alive in there," Dana breathed.  "There must be a lot of zombies."

"After that," Joey pointed to the flare, "there's going to be a helluva lot more.  We need to move now if we wanna get there first."

They dove in the wagon; Joey and Dana sat in the front, Matty braced himself in the back, gun in hand.  Squealing in protest, the wagon lurched out of the campsite and spun to a stop; the engine sputtered and died.

"That didn't take long," Dana said.  Joey glared at her.

The wagon started after a couple twists of the key.  They bounced along the root-covered ground in the pale dawn, careening through the trees at a reckless pace; the black surface of highway 93 appeared ahead.

"Hang on." Joey gunned it, cut the wheel, pumped the brakes, and then floored the accelerator.  As the wagon slid sideways toward the far side of the road—marked by a wall of imposing trees—Dana screamed in one long, unbroken song of terror.  Matty braced both legs against the driver-side rear door and clung to the opposite door handles; he wanted to scream, but there was no use competing with Dana.

Matty waited for the vehicle to explode, or flip over in a tumbling maelstrom of fire and death.  He had ridden shotgun during Joey's 'midnight marauder' drives, but Bad Betty had more steel and less rust than the paneled wagon.

Abruptly—and within inches of a gnarled oak—the clunker straightened and took off on a more or less straight course. 

"Holy shit!" Dana blurted.  "That was scarier than being bitten by a fuckin' zombie!"

"No it wasn't."  Joey huffed and waved a hand.  "That was tit."

Rattling and gurgling, the battered car chugged down 93 towards Double Brook, a casino and entertainment complex on the outskirts of Garden Harbor.  After ten minutes of driving, they saw the wide circular building looming on the right.

There was no way through the main entrance; smashed cars, burning wrecks and piles of bodies lay strewn in a wide arc around the flickering sign.  Among the debris, dozens of zombies staggered about, gnawing on severed limbs and lapping at pools of thick black blood.

"There's a delivery entrance a few miles down the road," Matty said.

"Not much of a choice." Joey veered around the carnage and pushed the wagon to its limits, flooring the gas as the munchers groaned and fell in behind.

"Shit! A couple of them are running after us, guys." Dana pointed to the rear.

A blue and white sign appeared on the roadside, adjacent to a narrow, winding road that disappeared into the trees. 

"That's it." Matty gestured at the sign.  He checked the safety on the .40 caliber and chambered a round.  "Let's hope we can find something near the loading dock."

"I'll take a tractor over this piece of shit anyday," Joey said. 

With each winding turn, the wagon squealed and a metallic grinding accompanied every press of the brake.  Four overhead doors appeared before them, and a pair of delivery trucks occupied the first two loading spaces.

"Up there!" Dana leaned forward in the seat.  "On the roof!"

Joey slowed the car and everyone peered out the window.  Above the loading dock, two women held a long banner of some billowy fabric; on the cloth, scrawled in bright red, were the words "Get us outta here!"

"Why haven't they taken the trucks?" Dana frowned.

"My guess," Matty said, "is that the trucks don't work or don't have any gas.  That leaves us the zombie-infested parking lot."

"We can't leave these people stuck here," said Joey.  He pulled up to the loading dock and shut off the wagon.  Gripping the wheel tightly, Joey shook his head.  "I won't ignore them to save my own ass."

"It's not right, but we can't lock ourselves in a building surrounded with zombies—not for them or anyone else."  Matty saw Dana bite her lip; she seemed to know what Matty had realized the minute the words escaped his lips: Joey had made up his mind.

"If you can't do it, I'll do it alone." Joey opened the door and put a foot on the ground.  "There's too much blood on my hands already."  He stepped out, placed two fingers in his mouth, and let loose an ear-splitting whistle.

"Fuck me." Matty slid out of the car.  Dana jumped out and stood next to Joey.

"Hey!" One of the women called from the roof.  "We have a rope ladder—hold on!"

As they unraveled and lowered the ladder, a pack of sprinting zombies rounded the corner of the loading dock and charged at the station wagon.

Matty whipped out the .40 caliber, braced his arms on the car hood, and fire four quick shots into the galloping munchers.  Two went down in fountain of blood, heads popped by the heavy rounds; two others spun and tumbled to the pavement with sickening cracks.

"Dana!" Joey handed her the ladder and slapped her on the ass.  "Get up there, right now!"  He took aim with the 9mm and brought down two more. 

Three of the undead survived the initial barrage and crashed into the station wagon, climbing over the hood and spinning around the front bumper to get at Joey and Matty.

Matty planted a boot in the first one's midsection, sending it flying back into the concrete wall below the overhead doors; he put a round in its head before turning to face the second.  The third zombie had bolted past the car and dove at Joey; two rounds tore a hole in its shoulder and jaw, but it pressed the attack.

Joey swung the pistol into the zombie's skull, crushing bone and sending blood shooting out the ears: it hit the asphalt at Joey's feet and twitched. 

Matty sidestepped the last muncher and kicked it in the back, sending it crashing against the wagon; pressing the barrel to its forehead, Matty pulled the trigger and splattered brain across the rear window.

"I'm up!" Dana yelled from the roof.  "There are more coming, guys!  Get your asses up here!"

"It might not support both of us," Matty said.  "Toss me the nine and get moving."

Joey hesitated for a moment then handed Matty the gun and started climbing.  He was halfway up when a throng of walking dead filtered into the loading area.

"Dana!" Matty raised both guns, one in each hand. "You might have mentioned there was a couple
hundred
more coming!"

"My bad!  The next group looked so much bigger, so I didn't think the first one would have that many!"

Matty glanced up and scowled at Dana.  "Next group?"

"Yeah," she pointed off towards the main parking lot; "there's a freakin' mob of them, like ten times the size of this one."

Fuck me
.  Matty started firing as the first staggering zombies veered around the wagon.  Aiming carefully, each round took down a target, creating a sandbag-like barrier of corpses at both ends of the car.

"I'm clear!" Joey called.

Matty emptied both guns and then dashed for the ladder.  He stuffed the spent weapons in his belt and leapt onto the metal rungs; faster than he thought possible, Matty scaled the loading dock wall.  As he neared the top, a bout of vertigo crept up and paralyzed him on the ladder.

"What are you doing?" Joey peered over the edge.  "Quit fuckin' around, man!"

"I need a moment."  Matty closed his eyes and breathed slowly; he had reached a point of calm when the ladder thrashed violently, swinging side to side and slapping against the concrete building.  The .40 caliber pistol slipped from Matty's belt and fell, but he managed to snag it.

"You need to suck it up and climb, Matty." Joey gripped the ladder and tried to hold it steady, but there were too many of them shaking it from the bottom. 

"All right!" Matty closed his eyes and climbed slowly, reaching out and feeling for the next rung before moving any other part of his body; his hands ached from maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the metal bars.  "Shit! Fuck! Bitch! Mother puss buckets!" Profanities dribbled from his lips at a rapid-fire pace. 

Several pairs of hands seized his shirt and pulled him the remaining distance.  He collapsed on the roof and kissed the sun-scorched concrete. 

"Um, is he going to be okay?" One of the women asked; she pushed a lock of bleach-blonde hair over one ear and pointed at Matty.

"I'll be fine," he answered, pushing off the ground and springing to his feet.  "I fucking hate heights and I fucking hate big open bodies of water, but guess what I had to do since these fucking munchers showed up?"  He turned and spit at the swarming zombies.  "I had to climb an unstable rope ladder and I had to doggie paddle across a fucking lake in my boxer shorts!"

"O-kay," the blonde said, backing away and looking nervously from Matty to Joey to Dana.  "Are you guys, like, all screwed up in the head?"

"Bitch, if you're sane then there's something seriously fucked up with you!" Dana swiveled her head and thrust a finger in the woman's face.  "How can you look at those fuckin' things and not go nuts!"

The other woman, a tall brunette with sharp cheekbones, pushed the blonde away.  "It doesn't matter—everybody had their problems before the zombies.  Let's get inside so you can meet the guys."

"How many of you are inside?" Joey followed the brunette to a roof stairwell.

"Just four," she replied; "I'm Allison and that's Carey.  Geoff and Roger are probably still in the casino."

As they descended into the building, Allison turned to Joey and spoke softly.  "Geoff isn't playing with a full deck.  Aside from the booze, he had to put down most of his family."

"What about the other guy, Roger."

She smiled.  "He's just a funny old guy with a gambling addiction."

"That explains why he's hanging around the casino," Dana said.

CHAPTER 5

What they described as the casino was nothing more than a wide lounge with a handful of slot machines, virtual poker and blackjack machines, and a bar.  Carpeted stairs descended to a lower area with green felt tables and banks of video monitors hanging from the walls.  Three sets of glass and brass double-doors fed into the main casino floor; jammed against the doors, Matty saw a mound of trashcans, steel pylons, chairs, and a few tables wedged in for good measure.

"I take it the casino is under new management?"  Matty grinned.

Dana snorted.  "Yeah it is!"

"O-kay," Allison said; "I'm not sure why you think that's funny."

"Because it is," Dana said.  "Shut up and let me laugh—it's better than crying."

"Jackpot!" Sitting in front of a functioning slot machine, an older man in a blue blazer threw up his hands and hooted.  "I finally hit the hootin' jackpot!  Can you believe that, Geoff?"

"How is there still electricity in here?" Matty noted three working machines and a line of flickering lights above the bar.

"Generators."  A tall, chunky guy with unkempt black hair appeared from behind the bar; he thrust a half-empty bottle of whiskey in Matty's hand, clinked his own glass against it, and slugged the contents in one gulp.  "Drink up!  It's on the house! Ha!"  He belched, staggered back a step, and leaned against the bar.

Carey hopped on a barstool and slowly twisted the cap from a bottle of water.  "Geoff, maybe you should slow down.  You've already killed like ten bo—"

"Hey!" Geoff pointed at her and smiled.  "I have not yet drunk to get begun! So shaddup and hand me a bottle o' Captain… please."  He whirled back around to face Joey, Matty, and Dana; his eyes crossed for a minute, but he shook it off with a shiver.  "Whadda you two want to drink?"

"I'm good." Matty held up the whiskey bottle and saluted Geoff.

"Where'd you get that!" Geoff lurched forward and snatched the bottle from Matty's hand.  "This here bottle," he jabbed the amber-colored glass, "is from my stash, so how'd you get it."

"Geoff, you gave it to him," Allison said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and guiding him to a chair.  "I'll talk to our guests, okay?  Sit there and have some rum."

"Damn straight!" He barked and tipped the pirate-labeled bottle upside down, gurgling and choking as the liquor poured into his mouth.  "Why do I always spill the rum?"  He pawed at the wet splotches dotting his button-up jean shirt.

"Believe it or not, he saved our asses." Allison nodded at the old man playing slots.  "Roger was trampled by people trying to get out and Geoff carried him into this lounge, away from the crowd and the zombies."