Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel Read online

  “More guns?” Troy said.

  “No, a bathroom. I really do need to take a shit.” Mason dropped the truck in gear and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Tires squealed as the truck sped down the middle of the road, heading directly for the nearest zombie. At the last minute, Mason whipped the wheel to the left and avoided hitting the undead with the front. The zombie bounced off the backend as it clipped the truck. He then turned the wheel to a hard right, and took out the next in line, as it smashed into the driver’s side door.

  Skylar bounced from one side of the truck to the other. “Be careful, or you’re going to get us killed.”

  Two more zombies stumbled from the sidewalk. The truck struck them on left front fender. Sheet metal crunched. A sickening thud and brains splattering on the windshield indicated their undead status had ended.

  Downtown Botte resembled a war ravaged town in the Mid-East, and remained nothing like the quaint little town that time had passed by. Mason had flashbacks from his stay in Iraq as flames and black smoke rose from a crashed car embedded in front of a dress shop. There were one or two other fires in the near distance. Dead bodies of men, women, and children littered the streets. Botte had been a bright, polished apple that had become a decayed, rotting mess. Troy waited for an opportunity and opened his door in time to take another one down. The zombie’s face struck the edge of the door. An eyeball popped out and hit the passenger’s side window, leaving a slimy streak.

  “There are too many of them. We don’t have a chance,” Skylar said.

  “Rangers fight harder than any enemy. You need to take that attitude, too, if you want to live to see tomorrow.” Mason spoke with conviction and from experience.

  The truck took another hard turn around a corner and had to swerve out of the path of a stalled car. The police station was right up ahead. The diner was a half block down. He had been so preoccupied with his own problems that he had forgotten about Rosella.

  Broken window glass along the sidewalk in front of the diner told a story that made Mason’s heart sink. It had been a long time since he had met a woman like Rosella. The weeks he had spent planning to ask her out told him that he was capable of emotions beyond those felt below the waist. Just when he thought he had begun to rediscover his humanity, thought he might break the chains of the past with the help of a true love, that dream had come to bitter end. Life was more of a nightmare than it had ever been. “I’m sorry, Rosella.”

  “What’d you say?” Troy asked.

  “Nothing. Get ready, I’m going to get as close as I can to the front door and hold them off.”

  “Here. Take this.” Troy handed the door key to Skylar. “I’ll cover you. Run to the door as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything. Even if they get me, go for the door and get inside.”

  “Oh, Troy. I’m so scared.”

  “Me too, baby, but we have to do this. Stay focused. You got this?”

  “Yes.” Her voice quivered. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The truck arrived at the line of cars parked in front of the police station. The immediate area was clear, save for a group of zombies in the middle of the road some ten yards away. That was too many, and too close for them to chance it. Mason stepped on the gas pedal again. “Brace yourselves!”

  The backend spun out until the tires grabbed the road and shot into the parade of undead. Two bodies flipped over the hood, smashed into the windshield, and rolled off. More went under the truck, or bounced off. Mason shifted into reverse and ran over those on the road again. For the moment, it was clear. Troy and Skylar would have a 15-foot dash to the front door of the station, and hopefully, sanctuary.

  Mason hit the brakes as soon as he was in position. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Troy bailed out while Skylar nervously fumbled with the rear door. She had forgotten to unlock it when she pulled on the handle to open the door.

  Once out, Troy led the way between two parked cars and bolted toward the station. A female zombie lumbered from the side. Troy stopped, aimed, and squeezed off two rounds. The first shot went wide, the next found its target. The zombie fell, crimson from its head staining the green grass.

  Skylar skidded to a halt in front of the door and pushed against it. It was locked tight, as they expected. She stuck the key in and turned it until hearing the reassuring mechanical click. “It’s open!”

  Shotgun blasts boomed over her last words. Mason found himself barraged by walking dead. In some ways, this felt too much like his time in Iraq. Insurgents, citizens of a community, gathered against him. In war, he dared not look at the faces of the enemy. If he hesitated for a moment, his advantage would be lost. He couldn’t afford to think of them as human beings. How could he ever be so cold to kill another person? Especially since he was the invader. The enemy had to be neither man nor woman, young nor old. The enemy, to him, was a mindless robot. Just a target in the way that needed to be taken down.

  That had worked without fail years ago. Mason didn’t know if would work now. Fortunately, whatever had turned the townspeople, made most of their faces practically unrecognizable.

  One zombie presented itself and stopped Mason cold. The man was short, very old, and hobbled on a withered left leg. Unmistakably, it was Old Man Jones, one of the nicest men Mason had ever met. A retired Navy crewman, Jones spent all his free time helping those in need. He was the first in church on Sunday morning and the last to leave.

  Mr. Jones’ perpetual smile and kind eyes replaced the monster before him in Mason’s mind. The old man reached out with an arthritic hand to give a gentle handshake. Mason heard the words, ‘So glad to see you, Sheriff. May God bless and protect you.’

  The old zombie grunted out a spine-tingling moan. Mason snapped back from his momentary escape and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. It clicked empty. He grabbed hold of the .45 and put an end to his friend’s miserable existence.

  Skylar pushed against the door but it still wouldn’t move. “It’s stuck!”

  Troy had just killed two more zombies that had come around the side of the police station. He ran over and put his shoulder into the door. It moved a few inches, after great effort, but it was far from being open enough to gain entrance. “Mason, get on over here. We need your help.”

  Old Man Jones had seen his last Sunday. Mason looked down on him and hoped he was right about there being a God.

  It was time to move, Mason pulled the bag of ammo out of the truck before hightailing it to the station door. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s unlocked, but it’s barricaded,” Troy said.

  The three leaned into the door and pushed. Their combined strength slowly moved the obstacle a few tenths of an inch before Skylar stopped pushing and let out a loud exhale.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, this is tough,” Mason said.

  “We’re not going to make it! There’re more coming, and we don’t have enough time!” Skylar said.

  More dead emerged from around the cars in front and shambled between them toward the station. They were an army of ghouls driven by an insatiable lust for human flesh.

  Mason picked up the shotgun and handed it to Skylar. “Load this up. Troy and I are going to have to thin the herd to buy us some time. You keep the bullets coming, and we’ll drive them back.” He dropped the clip from his .45, gave it to her, too, and then slapped in a full one. Troy did the same with his 9mm.

  If these things had been much faster, he knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. Mason picked the nearest target and slowly squeezed off round after round. Troy’s gun joined in, the 9mm blast wasn’t near as loud as the .45. Target after target fell until Mason’s gun clicked empty. He turned and handed it to Skylar, who handed him the shotgun.

  A grin curled on his lips; holding a long gun gave him a boost of confidence. The gun rose to his shoulder as he walked forward, firing in rapid succession. Heads exploded, sending bone fragments, grey matter, and blood raining down on the vehicles behind.

  T
roy held his fire. It only took ten seconds for Mason to empty the gun and bring the immediate threat to a halt.

  “Okay, let’s try again.” Mason hurried back with the others already in position to give it another team effort. At first, the door didn’t seem as if it was going to move at all. If the barricade had caught on something, it wasn’t enough to prevent the three from pushing it past the obstacle. The door moved again, this time almost six inches before the next phase of shambling dead.

  “Looks like another wave coming. Positions, everyone.” Mason swapped his shotgun for the .45. It was target practice all over again.

  * * *

  “Listen . . . I hear gunshots.” Rosella said, her eyes closed as she listened by the door of the utility closet. At first, she couldn’t distinguish the popping noise through the scratching and moans of the monsters trying to break in. Apparently, some of the zombies had left at the sound of the gunfire. With less distraction, hope started to build, knowing that someone, hopefully Sheriff Mason, was on the scene. She prayed he was kicking butt and not bothering to take names. Memories of the bodies and the horrors committed to them in the diner told her there was only one way to deal with this menace. Death had to come quick and without mercy.

  “I can’t hear anything,” Barry said.

  “I’m surprised you’re not deaf. Most of the time, you’ve got an iPod turned up to ten shoved in your ears.”

  “I think I hear something now. So what if it is gunshots? We’re in here, and they’re out there. Unless they come looking for us, it doesn’t matter,” Barry said.

  “If it’s Sheriff Mason, I know he’ll come here.”

  “Really, why do you say that? Think he wants to order some pie and a cup of coffee?” Barry’s comment dripped in sarcasm.

  “No, you little shit. Let’s just say, if he thinks I made the coffee, he won’t rest until he gets a cup. If he’s half the man I think he is, he will find us.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Judging from your previous demonstration of chivalry, meaning lack of, you must know how it is when a man feels like he has to protect his woman.”

  “Oh, I get it now. He’s sweet on you.”

  “I hope so.” Rosella words trailed off. “God, I sure hope so.” She closed her eyes and was glad that it was too dark in the closet for Barry to see her cry.

  The low moans and hands hitting the door continued, but the gunshots stopped. The two remained silent for a few minutes.

  “I think they’re gone. I don’t hear the guns,” Barry said.

  Rosella sniffed back the tears. “Maybe . . . maybe the area’s clean. Maybe they’ve all gone outside.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. I ain’t going out there to find out.”

  “Yes, you’ve already made that point clear,” Rosella said. “There must be some way to let them know we’re in here. Think, Barry, I can’t do this all by myself.”

  “I don’t know. What can we do? Beat on the wall? Holler real loud? They’ll never hear us.”

  “What are these walls made of, and where do they lead?” Rosella asked.

  Barry thought a minute. “Well, one wall leads to the cinderblock back of the diner. One leads to the same area the door leads to. The other is next to the storage cabinets. This whole building is made of cinderblocks. It could be a bomb shelter. They probably built it in the 50s when all them kids had to learn to duck and cover during a Russian nuke attack.”

  “Barry, I’m surprised you remember that.”

  “I like history. It’s the only class I paid attention to the entire time I was in high school.”

  “If you would have paid attention in every class, you would’ve gone on to college, and wouldn’t be stuck in this closet with me waiting to be eaten by a bunch of crazy people.”

  “I guess you’re right. Too late for that now.”

  “Maybe not. How about the ceiling? Where does it go?”

  “The ceiling?”

  “Yes, the AC repairman changed out some duct work a few weeks ago. The diner has a suspended ceiling. It’s made of two-foot squares that just lift up. He removed a few to get to the duct work. What if we take out some squares not under the ducts? How big is the space in the attic? Can we get out that way?”

  Barry snapped his fingers. “Yeah! I bet we could.”

  “We’ll have to get up there. I don’t think standing on the mop bucket I kicked earlier is going to do us any good. I’ll have to get higher. I need to stand on your shoulders,” Rosella said.

  “It’s going to be tricky, but we have to give it a try. I wish the batteries hadn’t gone out in the flashlight. How do you want to do this?”

  Rosella thought a moment. “Bend down and let me sit on your shoulders, and I’ll see what I can feel.”

  Barry dropped to one knee as Rosella reached through the darkness and felt her way around. She placed one leg over a shoulder and the other straddled his neck. “Okay, stand up.”

  Barry grunted a little, but stood quickly on firm legs. “Piece of cake. Feel anything?”

  “Yes. Hang on.” The square felt like a light, fibrous material. If the ceiling tiles were a remnant of the 50s too, it would be made of asbestos. No time to worry about that now. She slid the tile to the side. Hot, dusty air blew back in her face. A roof turbine air vent spun directly overhead. Sunlight cascaded through the blades, lighting the closet like a nightclub.

  “Hey. At least we can see. How big is the attic?”

  “Big enough for us to crawl around in. I’m going to grab onto a board that runs along the wall. If you can put your hands under my feet, you could help me as I try to pull myself up.”

  Barry placed his hands under her shoes. “Okay, give it a try.”

  With Barry’s help, and a lot of determination on her part, Rosella pulled her upper body into the attic. She squirmed the rest of her body over.

  The attic was nearly five feet tall. Only certain areas by the support walls were suitable for walking on. At least a path for salvation was still open.

  The shooting outside started again.

  “Help is still here! We need to get you up, Barry.”

  “That’s the part we didn’t think about. How am I going to get up there? It’s too high to jump, and there’s nothing down here to stand on.”

  Rosella searched through the darkness and spotted a box of electrical wire. She crawled over to it and was pleased to find it half full. “I found something you can use to climb up.”

  A strand of electrical wire dropped from the attic. Barry grabbed it and gave it a firm tug. “Can I come up?”

  “Yes. I’ve tied one end to a board. The wire should be strong enough to hold you. It’s pretty thick.”

  “It’s not very wide for me to get a grip on, but I’ll try.” Barry reached as high as he could with his left hand, then jumped, and grabbed higher with his right. His hand slipped a bit, and when he reached up with his left, he slid down back to the ground. “It’s too slick. It won’t work.”

  “Crap,” Rosella said. “I don’t see anything else up here.”

  The shots continued outside, filling the silence, and amplifying the urgency of escape.

  “You go on and find a way without me. If you make it, you can always come back and get me,” Barry said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I won’t. Not this time. Not when we’re so close. Wait—”

  The wire disappeared up into the attic, and returned a few minutes later back down. Rosella had tied loops in the wire about two feet apart to use as handholds.

  “Wow. That was genius, Rosella.” Barry wasted no time in pulling himself past the ceiling, and into the attic.

  The shots from outside stopped again.

  “Looks like we need to make our move before they leave. Let’s go.” Rosella led the way, crawling in the direction of the storefront.

  * * *

  “The coast is clear for now. Let’s give it the h
eave-ho again.” Mason turned away from the carnage piled nearby. This last group had pushed the battle line closer to the front door. He hoped they would be able to break through this time and not have to test the odds for survival again. Skylar had reloaded his shotgun two times during the barrage. Despite the ample amount of ammo acquired from Jay Nichols, the supply had been noticeably depleted.

  Once again, the three pushed against the door. It moved another couple of inches and stopped.

  “Not this again,” Troy said.

  “Okay, everyone catch your breath. It feels like we’re up against something solid. Let’s hit the door with all we got and see if we can bump it back. You with me?” Mason flexed his fingers to get the blood circulating.

  The coupled nodded and waited for direction.

  “Ready? Let’s hit it hard.” Mason and Troy put their shoulders into it and bounced off the door. Skylar hit it with outstretched open hands. The door pushed open some and the barricade rocked slightly.

  “It’s moving! Let’s do it again.”

  The door moved more.

  “Keeping bumping it. The barricade’s giving.”

  The bottom of the old desk, wedged between a broken piece of tile on the floor, cracked off, allowing it to move unhindered once again. This inspired the three to redouble their efforts, and push the door wide enough for entry. Once inside, Mason flipped the lock, and stood by the door, while Troy and Skylar collapsed on the floor.

  “Thank the Lord,” Skylar said, rubbing some life back into her fingers.

  “We’re in. What next?” Troy said.

  Mason didn’t say anything and dropped the clip from his .45.

  “Mason?” Troy said.

  “I’m going to reload and go back out there.”

  “What? Have you lost your mind?” Troy pushed himself from the floor.

  “I’ve got to go to the diner and check on Rosella. You two are safe. I didn’t want to risk your lives earlier.”