Forest Park: A Zombie Novel (19 page)

He felt a slight breeze tickle his neck.

His heart skipped a beat and his breathing begun to get more rapid, but heavier.

A breeze!

He looked to his left, but before his head was fully turned, he could see the beginnings of a bright light.

He had to say it again but this time it was only with a whimper. “Oh, shit!”

The front door was wide open!

At that very moment, the front door creaked in the light breeze and swung just a little to the side. It made only a little noise, a faint sound --- that same damn creaking door sound that keeps your eyes open at night after a scary movie, especially when you’re alone, and in bed, and it’s very, very late.

Steve stood looking from the kitchen, out through the front door, and down the garden path, past the open gate of his neighbor’s house to the pavement where... It stared straight back at him, its head tilted a little to the left, and then it tipped a little to the right like a dog that is just a little confused about what it might be seeing. Steve could sense that it was trying to focus, trying to see in through the darkness of the passageway and into the kitchen. Maybe it won’t notice me. If I remain perfectly still.

He then felt the embrace of the light breeze on the back of his neck once again as it blew through the open kitchen door, which silhouetted him.

At the moment, he was only a dark blob to the creature’s eyes, but if he moved?

He couldn’t move.

I have to stay still.

A moment later, another creature came into Steve’s view and then stopped.

It was a woman wearing a floral dress, a summer dress, now stained with blood and wearing a single red stiletto.

I have to stay still.

She too began to tilt her head from side to side just as the other one had, as it tried to focus on the black blob that stood beyond the garden path, down through the darkened passageway and into the kitchen.

Steve then heard a rasping sound, or was it a growl, coming from the Undead pair who stood just past the open front gate.

Neither of the dead moved.

Steve couldn’t even blink because of the fear. He tried to control his breathing, which had now become shallower. Maybe they’ll pass and leave me be?

I have to stay still; he thought, trying to concentrate.

I have to stay perfectly still, and then maybe they’ll begin to lose interest?

His heart was beating a million times a minute.

They’re going to leave me be. He could feel it in the air. He was nothing but a black blob to them. He was nothing.

He clenched his fists ... and that was all the Undead needed to see.

The female emitted a low growl, as she took her first uneven step toward him, as another Undead from across the way heard her, and rotated in her direction.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve said, and relatively calmly for the situation he now found himself facing.

He turned to run.

He couldn’t think of anything else he could do. He spun on his heels and tripped over his apparent two left feet. In panic, he fell into the wine rack headfirst.

The dozen bottles or so which it held fell to the ground, smashing as he screamed at the top of his lungs, which seemed like the right thing to do in a situation such as this. He would think later.

Steve tried to stand up, but then slipped on the spilled wine, which was beginning to spread out across the kitchen floor.

Reaching for the bench with one hand, Steve accidentally grabbed a drawer and pulled it open, spilling cutlery in every direction possible with a loud metallic cacophony of sound.

He screamed again as he looked over his shoulder, but couldn’t see anything except for the stainless steel refrigerator --- he had turned the wrong way...

“Oh,
fuck
!”

Finally, he got to his feet and ran out from the kitchen door to the patio.

He then however came to a skidding halt. “A fucking seat!” He needed a seat to help him climb over the fence.

Running back, he glanced in the kitchen window and saw some shapes enter the front door as he grabbed a piece of patio furniture. He ran to the fence and threw the chair down, but the chair flipped over and fell on its side.

Steve corrected it, and then raised his leg to climb over.

He lingered for a moment and gave the situation a little thought.

“I may as well get that propane now.” From inside, Steve heard a lamp or maybe a vase smash to the ground.

At least, they weren’t in the kitchen --- yet; he thought as he worked to undo the threads that connected the propane tank to the BBQ.

The threads seemed stuck, but were slowly becoming loose.

He pinched his fingers as hard as he could to undo the connection.

He heard another growl from inside the house and then another crash; they must have just reached the kitchen because he could hear the sound of cutlery being kicked about. The wine, slip on the fucking wine.

The connection was nearly undone.

He heard a heavy thump.

Whatever had fallen was trying to get up again.

He could hear it grunting.

They’re coming.

The tank came loose --- he had it.

He looked toward the door and saw a bloody hand reach its way around, pulling itself through.

Steve paused for a moment when he noticed the hand was missing a few fingers. It was the dead woman’s hand, a married woman’s hand with a diamond ring adorning it.

He lifted the propane tank and ran. He didn’t look back.

He ran across the patio and leaped for the patio chair that was against the fence, but it broke under his weight, sending him recklessly forward and through the fence into his yard.

The back door flew open and Kathy stepped outside and saw Steve sprawled out on the ground, on top of the fence.

Then she saw a woman, and next a man standing on her neighbor’s patio covered in dried cakes of blood.

“Steve, run!” He looked into Kathy’s eyes as she said, “Don’t look back, Steve, just run!”

He did what she had said to do, as he carried the propane tank.

Steve darted past Kathy and into the kitchen, where she slammed the door shut.

Dropping the propane tank, he flung himself to the tiled floor, and slid into their refrigerator for a touchdown.

Moments later, the Undead were at their back door thumping away.

“Lock it!”

“It’s locked,” Kathy answered.

“Close the curtains!” he said. “

What you can’t see won’t hurt you.”

“Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You got the propane?”

He nodded again and took a deep breath.

“Now all we need to do is bring the BBQ inside,” Kathy said.

“Shit!”

STEVE AND KATHY

ONE DAY AFTER THE BBQ FIASCO

The back door once more was secured.

After the last heavy knock, Kathy insisted that they move the old sideboard to stop the door from being forced, and now the door was fine, for the moment at least.

None of the creatures had attempted to break the kitchen window though, which left both Kathy and Steve a little puzzled, and Steve didn’t want to tempt fate by attempting to board it up, but then again, board it up with what? Last time Steve checked, Wal-Mart didn’t have a zombie survival kit on their shelves.

It seemed as if the creatures only had eyes for doors, even the barricaded ones. Maybe it was some, deep down, social etiquette, which still existed in their demented brains --- how to enter a room 101 --- use the door solely because windows are for viewing, not for entry.

It made Steve wonder how one of them would set a Thanksgiving table.

Hour after hour, more of the ghouls beat a path to Steve and Kathy’s front and rear door, probably drawn by the sounds of their own kind with their guttural grunts and groans.

The creatures milled about, bumping into each other, sometimes pushing one another, and at other times scraping their fingernails on the hard wood that separated them from Steve and Kathy, the screen door was long gone. They never stopped scratching and scraping. It continued all hours, twenty-four hours a day. It was obvious to Steve now, that the Undead knew their meals had locked themselves inside their house. It was as if Steve and Kathy were like a broken keyed can of spam that lived on the street, watching and waiting as the hours ticked by.

And then it happened... It was purely a weight of number’s equation.

It started with a dead paramedic, who fell into a naked guy, that had tripped on the housewife, which caused the big, obese, black guy to slam into the door with a God Almighty crash, which brought about a rising chorus of grunts and groans from the outside, from both the front and rear door.

Since then the creatures’ attempts were becoming more aggressive and persistent.

A constant pushing and shoving had now begun in earnest. The obese, black guy now heaved against the rear door time and time again.

It was as if something went pop in his brain, as if someone had said to him, you can do this; you can force this obstacle --- you can if you really try, truly, genuinely try to get what you want to get your reward.

Steve watched him from the corner of the kitchen window. He watched the obese black man’s distorted face express a concentrated determination, and at times, it seemed as if he was only concentrating on keeping his concentration face.

The creature’s face became intense, angry and frustrated over time. Steve could see the machinations of its mind. Before the power failed, Steve had heard that these things weren’t too smart, somebody had said that their brains weren’t firing correctly.
No shit, Sherlock
, Steve thought,
they’re fucking dead!
However, up-close things seemed very different.

It was there; Steve could almost picture the misfire, the odd random shots of sparking light in their brain bouncing around the ol’ gray tissue, looking for the right keyhole to turn the lock, to unlock their thinking consciousness.

Steve secretly prayed they wouldn’t find it.

However, what if they did?

It was time to go. “Kathy. We need to talk,” he said.

WASHINGTON

President Holtz, it had a certain sound to it.

From Vice President to President of the United States of America in a few days was a true achievement, and a real rise in pay-grade.

Soon after Holtz swore to uphold the constitution, General Carnegie leaned over and shook his commander and chief’s hand, using both hands, one of which held Holtz’s wrist tightly as he said, “Just think of the money you saved, Thomas, elections don’t come cheap.”

Thomas nodded by way of reply and quickly exited the room to find Harris standing near his lackey Ambrose. They seemed to have had a heated discussion by the looks of it, thought Holtz.

“We might as well be reorganizing the deck chairs on the Titanic...,” Holtz heard Ambrose say just before both men then greeted the new President with a bow of the head, and offered him hardy congratulations.

“What’s troubling you, Harris?” the new President asked.

“Your safety is on my mind, Mr. President.”

“Really, I can’t imagine why,” Thomas said as he rolled his eyes. “The last President was only assassinated a few days ago.”

Harris nodded and stepped forward. “It’s dangerous times for a good many people, Mr. President, and I suspect they’re going to get even more threatening in the foreseeable future. Anyhow, President Walker may have met with only an unlucky accident. I draw no conclusions, and nor is it required of me to do so.”

“You have any thoughts on how I could avoid any such
unlucky
accidents?” asked Holtz.

“Well, in fact, I do. I have something to tell you, something you may find extremely interesting.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Harris paused. “Have you ever heard of Project Diamond, Mr. President?” Harris said.

“No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.”

LEAVING HOME

“Hmm... You can really smell it now. The smoke, I mean,” Steve said.

Kathy said nothing; it was preferable to smelling the dead.

“You know this is going to kill property prices in our area. I think we bought at the wrong time.”

This time Kathy smiled.

“Worse things happen at sea honey,” Steve added.

“Thanks, Steve, but now isn’t the time, just let me sit here for a moment.”

Steve placed his hand on her knee and zipped his mouth shut, sometimes it’s best not to say anything. Even with all the chaos outside, you needed some time to think, time to check out. Some time to process what in hell was going on because very soon, that kind of time may only be a luxury.

They got used to the sounds, the sounds of their new life, and being surrounded by the shadows of people, dangerous and dead shadows.

It had amazed them both how easy it was to dismiss these new versions of humanity.

At first, they recoiled in horror, and with fear, and felt only pity and sadness for the dead, but now all that remained was the horror and the fear. The feelings of pity and sadness were gone. They didn’t care for any of the dead now, not the women or children, not the old men and the cripples.

It appeared to both Steve and Kathy, that in this new world, you had to leave empathy behind --- you had to become pitiless.

They both made a pact in the dead of the night.

If anything happened to either of them, neither of them would allow the other to return and become one of the ghouls, or shadow people. They made a promise to fight the urge to feel for the other, if one of them turned. They promised to show no pity.

The sadness could come later when the grieving could begin.

Both Kathy and Steve swore this to each other.

They made it the second most important vow of their lives together.

Never to become one of them!

Steve chanced a look out from the bedroom window again. Their only source of light was now the eerie orange glow from the fire next door. Steve could barely see at all, but he was sure none of those damned things were outside of the window, and near the Ram.