Mechanical Failure, Chap. 4b (zombie apocalypse novel in progress)

~continued~

Jeanette’s kitchen clock let me know that it was noon. My growling stomach had already told me as much, but it was good to know that I still had a feel for the time. I tried to light the stove, just to test it, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was no hiss of gas so that explained it. My gas water heater had quit working a while back, and so had my heater, telling me that the gas had finally stopped flowing. My stove was electric so that hadn’t been a problem at my house, but I was going to need another method of cooking here. I found a charcoal grill on the patio, and after a bit of quiet digging, I found a couple bags of charcoal and some lighter fluid. I’d have to use it sparingly, since I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, but it was enough to last me a while.

In the beginning, I’d worried about using the grill at my house, but it had soon become obvious that the zombies weren’t at all interested in cooking odors. They seemed focused on live human flesh, and they weren’t smart enough to make the mental leap between humans and human activity such as cooking. Even grilled meat didn’t seem to attract their attention.

I heated up a pan of chicken broth, and added some white rice and canned tuna. There was no way to refrigerate the leftovers so I ate it all, promising myself that dinner would be something small, if I even bothered with dinner. I just wanted to crawl into bed and rest for a while, so that my battered body could start to heal. First I had to fill a couple of empty chlorine jugs with water to take upstairs for flushing the toilet. I also dragged up some candles and a flashlight that I found in a drawer, though I had to put new batteries in first. As an afterthought, I brought up some things that I could eat without cooking, so I wouldn’t have to go downstairs again for a while. There were some crackers and chips as well as some canned foods that could be eaten cold, and I brought the can opener up with me as well. I couldn’t carry up the 5 gallon bottle of water, so I poured some of it into smaller containers and brought them up. Navigating the stairs on crutches wasn’t easy, but it would have been impossible to get between floors without them. The backpack allowed me to carry what I needed, though it made me feel off-balance and I thought I was going to fall backwards more than once. By the time the last load was carried up, my good leg was shaking, and I was pretty sure I couldn’t have made another trip if my life had depended on it.

I blocked off the top of the stairs with a heavy dresser, which was ridiculously difficult to move. It wouldn’t keep me safe forever, but it would slow the dead down if they made it that far. A few empty cans stacked on top of the dresser would act as an alarm system.

Locking myself into the master bedroom, I slid a dresser in front of that door as well. Jeanette had a full bookcase and I planned on making use of the books. I was set for a while, I thought, as I walked over to look out the bedroom window. There were a couple walking corpses near the house and several still gathered together at the intersection, but I wasn’t worried. If they hadn’t found me yet, I was probably safe here unless I did something stupid. I promised myself not to play any music, and I’d sleep when it was dark so that I wouldn’t need to light the candle unless I had to. The bedroom window was a thick, expensive one, meant to keep out the harsh Nevada sun, yet I could still hear the moans of the dead outside. Someday the noise might just push me over the edge, but not today. I was too tired to care. I grabbed a book and went to lay down on the bed, exhausted.

~to be continued~

Mechanical Failure, Chap. 4a (zombie apocalypse novel in progress)

~continued~

A bit of the intersection was visible from the far edge of Jeanette’s large picture window, so that’s where I waited. It was only about five minutes before the first of the dead began to appear. At first none of them turned onto Mulberry Street, so I hoped that maybe they’d lost me. I was actually starting to relax when I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. Stepping back quickly, I forgot and put weight on my injured leg. I bit back a scream of agony, grabbing the wall for support until the wave of pain finally passed. When I felt that I could move again, I hopped closer, and carefully looked outside to see what had caught my eye. One of the dead things stood in the street, just past the house. He seemed to be looking around, and I wondered if he was searching for me, or if he had maybe just followed a bird or cat this way. That happened all the time. The dead would trail something for a while then just stop and stand around when they lost sight of it. Some of them eventually returned to a specific place, and others didn’t. I always saw the same teenage girl zombie loitering outside the theater, clutching a red purse. Perhaps a residual memory had her standing there, eternally waiting for a boyfriend that would never arrive. Thoughts like this saddened me and they made it a little harder to kill the undead. I wanted to think of them as mindless husks, possessed by some other force that I needed to drive away.

I often saw some of my deceased neighbors near my house, and my husband, Patrick, tended to spend most of his time there as well. It would have been so much easier if he’d have gone somewhere else where I didn’t have to see him. It was pure torture for me. His thick blond hair was now matted with blood and gore from the gaping wound where his ear used to be. His eyes, which had always been a vibrant blue, were now the same milky white that I saw on all of the dead. Most of his throat had been ripped out, so I knew that even if a cure was ever found, he was beyond help. I couldn’t look at him without wondering about his last moments, certain that he had died in terrible pain. What kind of terror had he felt as his last breath had left his body?

I blinked away tears, not wanting to think about him. When I didn’t dwell on Patrick, my life was tolerable, and I kept busy just trying to survive. The other times, the times that I let my mind linger in the past, I didn’t care so much about staying alive, and I always began to ask myself if I even wanted to exist in this sort of a world. Those dark thoughts were dangerous, and it was best not to let them take hold, but I knew that as long as Patrick was around, the darkness would fester inside me.

Pushing the bad thoughts away, I eased a little closer to the window again and peeked out. It appeared that much of the group that had followed me from my house was loitering in the intersection, and had that “bored and distracted” look about them. This usually meant that something had caught their attention momentarily, which was not good. I’d counted on them continuing down the street until it dead-ended before wandering back up the hill.

Some of them were turning onto Mulberry and moving my way. Others were returning the way they’d come, and a few looked like they were continuing the trek down the hill. I wished that I had a better view of it all, but I wasn’t going to risk getting any closer to the window. If one of them got so much as a glimpse of me through the shutters, or saw a shadow of movement, I’d be found out.

I backed farther away and looked around. The house would not be easily defendable because it had a lot of big windows downstairs, but it did have a second floor that I might be able to block off. If I kept quiet and didn’t let the zombies see me, I just might be able to stay long enough for my ankle to heal.

Making my way to the kitchen, I looked out the back door at the yard. Like my house, this one was also surrounded by a cinder block wall. There was also a pool, but the water in it was green and thick with algae. My purification tablets were back at the house, but hopefully I could find some bleach or chlorine to make the water useable. If not, it would have to be boiled.

I did a quick search of the first floor though I’d already checked it once when things had first gotten bad. Jeanette had told me that she was going to go to the shelter, but I’d had to visit her house to be sure. I’d been both disappointed and relieved to find the place empty, knowing that her absence meant that she was probably dead. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with her walking corpse, which would have been almost as bad as seeing Patrick.

I had appropriated some supplies on my last visit. There had been a lot of pasta and flour, and I’d taken most of it, knowing that the bugs would get into it if it sat around too long. The canned goods had been left behind for later.

Going through the cupboards again, I was thrilled to find a blue 5-gallon bottle of water in the back of the pantry. I hadn’t seen a water dispenser so I wasn’t sure why she had the bottle, but I didn’t care. It would work well for drinking and cooking, leaving the pool water for bathing and other things.

The garage was full of odds and ends, which made searching for the crutches difficult. The slightest noise would give me away, and I had to move at a crawl to keep that from happening. It was almost an hour before I finally accomplished my goal and was able to move back into the house.

I adjusted the crutches to fit me, since Jeanette was a little shorter than I was. Once that was done, I checked the front window again and was pleased to see the street almost empty. I made my way to the downstairs bathroom, and used some first aid supplies to clean my cuts and scrapes. If any of the open wounds had been contaminated with zombie blood or saliva, I was as good as dead, but there was no point in dwelling on that too much, since there was nothing that could be done about it. Cleaning the wounds thoroughly would at least decrease the chances of other infections, since running to the pharmacy for antibiotics was not going to be an option. Saving my ankle for last, I wrapped it with an Ace bandage. It was horribly swollen and turning purple and I still didn’t know if it was broken or sprained, but it didn’t matter. I was out of commission for a while, one way or the other.

 ~to be continued~

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

~continued~

As quickly as possible, I hobbled around to the right side of the bike, wishing I’d done that in the first place. Planning was everything these days and a small mistake like that could get me killed. As I slipped my bad, left leg over the bar, I could see the dead approaching out of the corner of my eyes, but I didn’t dare waste a moment trying to determine how close they were. Throwing myself onto the seat while trying to keep the pressure off my left leg, I let the bike start to roll. It was unsteady and it began to wobble as I fought to get my right foot onto the pedal. For a moment I was certain that I was going to topple over, which would have meant a not-quick-enough death. I was able to shift my balance and straighten the bike, and though I had to dodge several grasping hands as I rolled down the driveway, I managed to avoid being pulled off.

Once I cleared the horde, I risked a backward glance to see that there were at least twenty of the dead things within a few feet of me, and more pouring out of my garage to join them. I built up as much speed as I felt I could handle, but I slowed once I put a little distance between me and my followers. There weren’t any other zombies on my street, fortunately. They were all either standing in yards or trying to get into houses. A glance behind me confirmed my fear that most of the horde from my house was trailing behind me. I needed to lose them. There was a big curve coming up, just before the end of my street, which is where I would have to turn.  I was hoping the curve would allow me to ditch the mob behind me, since they wouldn’t see me take the turn. Hopefully they’d continue on through the intersection and keep going down the long street.

I held my breath and started putting pressure on the brakes before my turn came. I needed as much speed as I could manage to get me as far as possible down the street, but not so much that I would lose control of the bike. Since I’d never done this before, I really had no idea just what that perfect amount of speed was. Using my best judgment, I began to take the turn. Unfortunately, the bike was moving too fast for the curve, and I began to careen toward a parked car. My heart raced as I fought to get the bike under control and back into the middle of the street. For a moment, I was certain that I was going to succeed but my relief was short-lived as I clipped the back of the car. I watched the houses and cars spin upside down as I flew through the air, rolling a few times before coming to a rest against the curb.

For a moment, I lay still, staring up at the clear blue sky. This certainly wasn’t helping my sore back, but it didn’t seem to have caused any new damage, either. With a groan, I managed to get to my good foot by grabbing the trunk of a nearby car. I let out a long breath and looked down the street to where the house was. I only needed to make it a couple hundred more yards, and the street appeared to be zombie-free.

The bike was lying in the middle of the road, one wheel spinning freely. I crawled over and dragged it back to a car so I could steady myself while I righted the bike. The road was flat at this point, so riding the bike wouldn’t be an option. Instead, I rolled it along and hopped on my good foot as quickly as I could, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the dead reached the intersection. I had to get off the street before that happened.

It seemed like it took forever to make my way to Jeanette’s house, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. I’ll bet I looked over my shoulder fifty times, but after what seemed like an eternity, I wheeled into the driveway and made my way up to the house, planning on bringing the bike inside since it might be needed again for another quick escape. Getting it up the two steps to the front door was tricky, but I managed, though I was very aware that time was slipping by, and the dead were growing ever closer. I could even hear their moans by this time. I didn’t dare look to see if they were in sight yet, but instead I fumbled in my pocket for the credit card that I always carried. For one sickening moment, I thought I had lost it then I realized it was in my other pocket. I got it out and began to pry at the lock until I was finally met with success. I was lucky, since the credit card trick only worked on certain types of locks, and Jeanette’s house happened to have the original door on it with an old lock. I stepped inside and dragged the bike in behind me, locking the door again and letting out a huge sigh of relief.

~to be continued~

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

~continued~

I hadn’t stayed alive this long by making stupid decisions, but the one I had just made was questionable. Still, my options were down to two and I didn’t like either of them. I would have to leave my neighbors’ house, or I would have to go upstairs and try to reinforce one of the rooms well enough to keep the dead out. It was hard to say how long it would take for my ankle to heal, and I really wanted to find a place where I could recuperate without a bunch of zombies banging on the door. That wasn’t going to happen here, so taking the bike and making a run for it seemed to be my only choice.

I was jerked abruptly from my thoughts when a shadow crossed my line of sight. There he was; the big guy. He saw me right away, and he tried to walk through the door to get to me, his bloodied face snarling with rage or hunger as it slammed into the glass. He clawed at the door then began to pound his meaty fists against it, leaving smears of blood and the gray-green goo that I often saw on the flesh of the not-so-dead. The whole door shook as he raged against it, and I knew that my time was about up. Grasping the edge of the table for support, I got back onto my good foot and slipped my arms through the backpack. I started for the garage again, but paused. My neighbor, Ron, had been very athletic, which was fortunate for me or I might not have found the bike and the backpack. The thing was, he’d always pushed himself a bit harder than was wise for a man in his late fifties, and every few months or so he’d end up out-of-commission for a while with a bad back or sprained wrist. His wife had told me that Ron hated to take pain pills, but on occasion he would do it. I just wondered if he might have left some prescription medications behind that might help my ankle. I made a semi-quick detour into the downstairs bathroom but found nothing. It was likely that they kept their medications in the master bathroom upstairs, and there was no way I was going to attempt that trek on one foot with limited time. I grabbed the bike then hesitated once more in the hallway. I’d been planning on going out the garage door, but I had no way of knowing if it was clear. There could be hundreds of the dead outside, just waiting for the door to rise. If they weren’t already out there, the sound of the door opening would surely lure them over.

Changing my plan, I rolled the bike into the living room, leaning on it as I hopped along. I peered through the large picture window and saw nothing in the front yard, but I heard the sliding glass door behind me shake as my buddy slammed into it again. Glancing back, I could see that there were two of the dead there now, and I was certain that the commotion would draw others. Another glimpse out the front window revealed nothing new, thankfully. Taking a deep breath, I eased open the front door and looked around. Though it was very quiet, it still seemed too loud to me, but I think that it was just the blood rushing in my ears.

The garage was blocking my view to the left as I mentally prepared myself to move down the walk, and I fully expected one of the ghouls to appear from around the side of the building at any moment. Had my neighbors had a lawn, I would have just ridden the bike across it and started down the hill, but the front yard was made up of decorative rock that would probably puncture or at least stop my tires. I would have to follow the walk to the driveway then out to the street.

My heart was pounding as I pushed the bike forward about a foot, wincing at the whisper of the turning wheel. I knew that if anything rounded the corner now, I had nowhere to go. It was doubtful that I could make it back inside the house, and the walkway was too narrow for me to maneuver around another body. I’d be trapped, and God only knew how many ghouls were just yards away, in front of my house.

I hopped a couple steps to catch up to the bike then rolled it again, doing my best to be silent. I was almost glad that I was barefoot since my shoes would have undoubtedly made noise.

Shaking violently with each step, I somehow managed to make it to the end of the garage without dropping the bike or drawing attention to myself. After taking a deep breath, I risked a quick look around the corner. The blood drained from my face as I saw dozens of the dead swarming into my house, just a few yards away. Some of them saw me, too, and turned in my direction with loud moans that would alert the rest of the crowd that prey was near.

~to be continued~