Mechanical Failure, Chap. 3b (zombie apocalypse novel in progress)

I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out if there was an alternative. I could reach the middle of the bike from where I stood, but I was afraid that if I grabbed it there, the handlebars would turn and the whole thing would come crashing down on me. After a moment’s thought, I gave up and hopped back down to the floor. Using my makeshift walker again, I made my way to the back wall and pulled down a coil of rope, which I threw over my shoulder. Making one more trip back to the bike, I tied the rope around the bar across the middle. Now came the fun part. The garage door ran along a track that was basically two metal struts that curved up and ran across the ceiling. I had to get the other end of the rope over one of the struts. I tried several times, nervous about the noise that the rope made when it hit the strut and then fell to the ground. I finally decided it wasn’t going to work that way.

Placing the step stool next to the car, I put both hands on the hood and shifted my weight to them so I could get onto the first step. That gave me enough height to slide onto the hood of the car. By keeping a hand on the windshield, I was able to get to my knees then finally into a crouching position on my good foot. My balance was off and when I accidentally stepped back, the hood indented, making a loud noise. Cringing, I leaned down to put a hand on the windshield again until I could get my foot into position on the far edge of the hood, where it felt a little sturdier. I was a nervous wreck by this time, wondering if my undead friends had gotten over the wall yet, and wondering how many had heard me through the garage door. It didn’t take much imagination to see myself stuck on the top of the car with zombies grasping at me from every direction. If they’d broken through my garage door, they could break through this one, too.

Shaking my head, I told myself not to think about it and just get the job done. I got ready and pushed myself up into a standing position on my good foot, flinging the rope through the air at the same time. I wasn’t able to balance on the foot for long so I dropped back down, hand flat on the windshield as I looked up to see if I had been successful. The rope had made it over, but there wasn’t enough of it hanging down for me to grasp it. I lifted and jiggled it until I managed to get a little more over. It took several valuable minutes, but finally I was able to grab the free end. Soon I was back on solid ground, looking up at the bike.

Using the rope, I was able to lift the bike up off of the hooks then lower it while guiding it with my free hand. When it almost reached the floor, I lost my grip and the bike dropped the last couple of feet. I grabbed it to keep it from falling over, wincing at the noise it had made. For several long seconds, I stood still but I didn’t hear anything to cause undue panic. Untying the rope, I coiled it up and tied it so I could take it along with me, knowing that it might come in handy.

I spent a few more minutes going through the camping gear, and I was able to find a backpack. I put the rope in it and added a few more things from the garage then I carefully made my way back into the house. I was glad to see that the patio door was as I’d left it.

After stuffing the backpack with the small amount of food from the cupboards, I hobbled to the back door and peered outside to see that my buddy was now almost to the platform on the wall. He wasn’t moving, though. He seemed to be looking around. I was hoping that since I wasn’t in sight, he might forget about me, but then I noticed that another of the ghouls was behind him on the ladder. I hoped they’d fall before reaching the top of the wall, but I wasn’t going to count on it.

I sat down at the kitchen table to think for a moment. I had to be able to walk if necessary. If I could do something about my leg, maybe I could still move a little faster than the dead. A memory hit me suddenly. Years earlier, I had twisted my ankle in a Taekwondo class and my friend, Jeanette, had loaned me a pair of crutches. She lived downhill from me on Mulberry Way, which intersected my street, Sequoia Drive. The intersection was where I was considering building a wall to block off my neighborhood. If I could get enough speed on the bike to coast to her house after making the sharp turn, I could go inside and look for the crutches . . . if there weren’t zombies around. There were so many things that could go wrong.

~*~

Mechanical Failure, Chap. 3a (zombie apocalypse novel in progress)

~continued~

I hopped across the back yard to the house, and peered in through the sliding glass door. Everything looked the same as it always did, and the front window still seemed to be intact. I’ve noticed that zombies don’t usually break in unless they know that someone is inside. That’s a huge plus for the living. Balancing on one foot, I struggled with the heavy door and finally got it open enough for me to slip through. I left it that way and hobbled through the house to do a quick check. The bottom floor was still empty, and I just hoped that the second floor was as well, since I wasn’t going to climb the stairs to find out. I’d been inside many times, scavenging, so I wasn’t too worried since there was no sign of a break-in. Returning to the back door, I closed it but didn’t lock it. I doubted that the dead had the sense to slide the door open. They usually just hit the glass until it broke.

The car keys were hanging on the kitchen wall, for all the good they were going to do me. Since the Thompson’s car hadn’t been started since September, the battery was most likely dead. The only thing that really mattered was whether or not the vehicle had a manual transmission. I quietly entered the garage and worked my way over to the Camry to peek inside. One glimpse of the shifter told me that the car was an automatic, so I wasn’t going to be able to roll it down the hill to start it. I considered giving it a try with the key, just in case there was still some life left in the battery, but I was afraid it might make one of those ‘mostly dead’ car noises. That would be like ringing a dinner bell. Even the sound of the doors unlocking and opening might be enough to earn myself some unwanted attention.

Sighing, I stood and looked around the neatly organized garage as I tried to come up with another way to get out of the mess I was in. After a moment, my eyes lit on a bike that was hanging on the wall. Keeping one hand on the hood of the car, I made my way over and tested the tires and found that they were still full. I was pretty sure that pedaling would be out of the question, but my house was at the top of a street that sloped downward. If I could get the bike outside without being seen, I thought that I could make it down the street and find a vehicle that would run. If not, I’d have to figure out a solution at that time. My options were limited.

Lifting the bike down without making any noise was going to be tricky. Besides the fact that it was too high for me, I couldn’t balance well on one foot. Resuming my investigation of the garage, I saw all kinds of tools and some camping supplies as well as several boxes which could contain just about anything. I actually smiled when I saw the folding step stool. Once it was unfolded and turned around, I was able to use it like a walker. It took a while to silently make my way over to the bike, but once there I put the stool in place. I tried to put weight on my bad foot for just a moment so I could step up, but it wasn’t going to happen. The pain was excruciating. Gritting my teeth until the worst of it passed, I tried to figure out how I was going to get onto the step. I knew that I could jump that high, so I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult to hop up onto the step. Placing one hand on the wall, I put my bad foot down, just for balance. I had no intention of putting weight on it. I took a breath and jumped up, but my foot overshot the center of the step and almost slid off the other side. The stool teetered for a moment, and I held my breath, praying that it wouldn’t go over. Once I was sure it was going to remain in place, I shifted my foot back to the center of the step. My hands were sweating as I contemplated the next step. It would be a lot easier to knock the whole thing over this time. If I screwed up, not only would I make a ton of noise, but if my foot slipped between the step and the rail on the way over, I could easily break a leg. Then I’d really be in trouble.

~to be continued~