ZombiePalooza - Anthology

#TeamEcrivain Pt. II - @CarolinaC's "Zombies? Zombies!"

// Zombies? Zombies!

By //  CarolinaC

"At least the rain's stopped," Catherine said, taking the binoculars from Bob's outstretched hand. The wind from the west smelled of dust; the thundercloud that had soaked them to the skin was fading to the east.

"It just means they'll be back," Bob replied. His voice was low, as though he thought they might hear him. "Zombies don't like the rain. Still, it isn't far."

Catherine balanced her elbows on the parapet. The concrete was cool, and damper, even, than her wool sweater. She pressed the binoculars to her eyes, training them down at the muddy expanse of grass and gravel two storeys below. A garish orange and white Volkswagen Camper Van sat at the far side of the mud.

"You see?" Bob said. His voice was strained, over-excited, but he managed to keep his volume down.

The driver's side of the van leapt into sudden focus as Catherine turned the little wheel near the bridge of her nose. She let out a low whistle, like the ghost of a hundred old movies watched on inclement Saturdays. "Someone left the key in the ignition." Catherine handed the binoculars back.

"Yep," Bob said with a grin. He tucked the binoculars into his backpack, snug against the canned goods and change of clothes. "We can get out of here."

"Why would anyone leave their key -"

Bob dropped the bag and held up a hand, stopping the flow of Catherine's words. "This is one of those nice, quiet neighbourhoods. Everybody knows everybody. Stop being so cynical. Like Brian May said, 'The biggest emotion in creation is the bridge to optimism', right?"

"Brian May never said that."

"And how would you know, hmm?"

"Well," Catherine brushed off her hands as she stood up, "How do you know that he did say it?"

Bob gave her an incredulous look. "Brian and me are friends. We go waaay back. I once appeared on stage with him."

"No, you didn't. You couldn't have. Brian May from Queen?"

"I did! I absolutely did! And yes, Brian May from Queen. Is there another Brian May? You might be confused because he also does astrophysics. Same guy, though, I promise you."

"Does astrophysics provide any input into avoiding zombies?" Catherine inquired, snarkily.

"Not that I'm aware of," Bob seemed to ignore the snark. If anything, he sounded annoyingly pleased with himself. "I noticed the rain thing all on my own."

Catherine rolled her eyes. She noticed that Bob seemed to have forgotten about the zombie menace – his voice was normal volume, now, with no attempt to quiet himself.

"Nonetheless," Catherine said, "the sun is out, and we're here, and the camper van is there." She gestured, broadly.

"And so are the zombies," Bob said, sighing.

Catherine looked back towards the van. A vaguely humanoid figure drifted around the corner of the building, its face purpled with congested blood. It no longer moved like a human; it moved like a marionette, alternately stilted and swiftly fluid. Catherine silently drew away from the parapet.

"Damn." The curse was half-whispered, and Bob looked at her sympathetically.

"Do we wait it out?" Catherine asked.

Bob's shrug felt like a punch to the gut. "I don't know," he said. "It might rain again."

Catherine could feel the scowl on her face. "Or it might not. I want to get out of here. I want to go home."

"Yeah." Bob looked down at his feet and repeated, "Yeah."

Catherine glared at him. Bob did not look up. Finally, she sighed, and turned. She walked over to the trap door in the centre of the flat, square roof. Then she looked back at Bob over her shoulder. "Lucky thing they're too stupid to open doors or windows."

Then she knelt, and pulled the door open.

The stench hit them first, like the rolling swell of an ocean of purulent decay. Before Catherine could force the trap closed again, a head pushed its way through. Matted clots of hair ringed a sunken depression where the skull had slumped in, a convex hollow the size and shape of a tennis ball. The shattered face was covered in blood, dried now to a flaky brown crust.

Catherine let out a little shriek, stumbling back, only to stopped abruptly by Bob's solid bulk. He swore, and kicked at the thing.

Catherine threw down her own pack. "I need a knife! A knife, a wooden stake, something!"

"A wooden stake?" Bob called back, kicking desperately. There was a spray of rotting flesh and a few white splinters of teeth, but the creature kept pushing its way up, slowly, inexorably.

"This isn't Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Catherine! Wooden stakes don't work on them!" Bob protested. "Toss me my bag! There's a pair of kitchen scissors!"

Catherine's fingers closed around the rough canvas hanging strap at the top of the bag. She didn't toss it; she launched it with all the strength she possessed, towards Bob and the zombie.

Bob's outstretched fingers skimmed the bag, but gained no purchase. Instead, the bag slammed down, hitting his leg – and the exposed head of the creature. There was a sickening crunch, and for a moment, the creature wavered.

Catherine threw herself, bodily, onto the trap door, forcing it down. For a moment, she thought the zombie would force its way through, but Bob joined her, sitting down on the door with all his weight. The door bucked and rocked beneath them, then stilled.

"Thanks," said Catherine.

"God, girl," Bob replied, "you almost broke my leg. It felt like you hit me with a block of lead."

The trap door bucked again, but the combined weight of Catherine and Bob kept it closed.

"Not a chance." Catherine said. She tried to sound normal. She tried not to sound like she thought they were doomed. "Unless you have a block of lead in that bag."

Bob opened the bag. He frowned at the binoculars, though they looked fine to Catherine. He reached in a hand, digging around. He pulled out a dented can with the word Clingstone printed on it.

"You broke my peaches!"

Catherine laughed, but she wasn't amused. She could hear the laugh as it skewed off towards the barking, wild laughter of madness. Bob put an arm around her shoulder, and the laughter changed to tears.

"It's okay, it's okay," he crooned. "It'll rain. Don't worry, it'll rain. And then we'll get to the VW camper, and we'll leave. We'll be gone. We'll be safe."

But the sky to the west was clear and red with the setting sun.

"It doesn't rain indoors," Catherine whispered – and still, the creature beneath seethed, hungry, and the door they sat on rocked, and rocked, and rocked.