Capple, positioned closest to the picture window, fell in a matter of seconds, his screams nearly swallowed by the frenzy of the horde.
Rico, Ferris and I fired into the scrum on top of Capple, but it was a waste of ammo. Capple’s screams had stopped almost as soon as they’d started. He was either dead, dying, or destined to turn.
Headbutt, stationed at my feet, snapped and growled, spoiling for a fight. I worried for him. All heart and no brains, that dog. Whether it was one rotter, or dozens, made no difference to him. Headbutt would stand with me until the end—and take out more than his fair share of deadheads along the way.
On the other hand, Kulu, whose cage had toppled during the onslaught, was nowhere to be seen. The cage door, now slightly bent and open, probably unlatched when it hit the floor. Kulu, bird of prey, would have to fend for herself. I was up to my eyeballs in rotters. And since she wasn’t in my line of sight, at least for the moment, she was out of the fray.
For once, Leo and Nonnie did as they were told, and stayed hidden beneath the table.
Deadheads tumbled into the house in waves, first the corpsicles, then the flesh-eaters, and finally, the freshies. The attack had a definable strategy. The first wave, corpsicles, were nothing more than expendable battering rams, their sole purpose being to gain access into the house.
Once inside, they either continued on, or if too damaged by the initial impact, were overrun by the flesh-eaters. The freshies, the least decayed of the lot, struck last, moving quickly and at will.
Was Dr. Christian seeing that same cooperative pack mentality in Europe?
I fired one round, then two, then three. The closer they came, the faster I shot. And still, they came.
Headbutt charged and sank his teeth into the foot of one of the corpsicles, its rotting muscles and tissue giving way instantly to the crush of his bite. Festering flesh peeled down its foot in jagged strips. With one last snap of Headbutt’s jaw, the zombie’s foot severed, coming loose in his mouth. The biter toppled over, but continued to pull itself across the floor, using only its hands.
Kulu reappeared, swooping down with a screech, and proceeded to peck out the rotter’s eyes. She kept on drilling, too, until she hit brain matter.
That’s my bird.
Another deadhead advanced from the kitchen. I squeezed the trigger again but the gun misfired. The son of a bitch jammed. I racked the slide, chambering a new round.
But the rotter was a freshy, quick and agile. It lunged forward, grabbed both my arms, and then threw me to the ground. I fired off balance, halfway to the floor and missed it completely.
Shit. Bad time for my Ka-Bar to be holstered in my room.
Headbutt went for its leg, but the rotter kicked him hard and sent him sailing.
Bad move, meatbag. “Oh no, you did not just kick my dog.”
“Ferris,” Rico screamed. “Help Nighthawk! I’ve got Leo.”
Ferris, maybe twenty feet away, raised his Glock and took the head shot. But the biter moved, pouncing on me like I was a breakfast burrito, its dead eyes staring into mine, its death stink wafting up my nose.
How many rounds do I have left?
I pushed up on the rotter, putting as much distance as I could between it and me, and then closed my eyes. Please don’t be empty, I thought as I brought Hawk to bear, squeezing his trigger.
Booyah, baby! Tango down. Nailed that sucker right in its temple. I’d have bragged about that kill for the rest of my life, if I wasn’t pretty sure I’d peed my pants.
Ferris, now at my side, rolled the biter off me and pulled me to my feet.
“Just how big are your balls?” he asked.
“Bigger than yours.” I reached into my pocket to check for more mags and came up empty. “How many mags you got left?”
“One.”
I hollered over to my shoulder to Rico, “How many mags you got?”
“Two.”
“Ferris, watch my six,” I said, as I battled toward the kitchen.
A corpsicle shambled straight for me with outstretched arms.
“He’s mine,” I called to Ferris.
Our ammo was dangerously low, no need wasting it. I sidestepped and threw a roundhouse to the biter’s head. It splatted like a leftover Halloween pumpkin.
Two more bogeys attacked. Flesh-eaters. Their heads wouldn’t fly from a kick, so I squeezed Hawk’s trigger and prayed. But he was empty.
Ferris took them both out, one-two, with his Glock.
Having finally made it to the kitchen table, I bent down and yanked up the tablecloth.
Click. The cold, hard steel of Nonnie’s .44 pressed against the bridge of my nose.
“Nooo,” I screamed, knocking her hand aside.
The gun went off like a cannon and Nonnie fell over backwards, taking the table and chairs with her, wiping out the next wave of biters.
“Give me that gun.” With a quick grab, and a twist of my wrist, I took it from her and handed it to Leo. “Whatever you do, don’t give this back to her or I’ll shoot you myself. Now, both of you, get behind me. Quick. We need to move.”
Nonnie grabbed her skillet and scrambled to her feet, followed by Leo. They sandwiched themselves between Ferris and me. Headbutt remained at my side, ever loyal, snarling and snapping at the new wave of rotters as they advanced.
I nodded to Ferris. “Help Rico take out the rotters, so we can move down the hall. My ammo’s in Leo’s bedroom. We can hold them off from in there.”
Together, Rico and Ferris picked off the biters that blocked our path.
I whaled on the ones behind us with a broken chair leg, to drop the backline of deadheads that charged us from the kitchen. One down. Two down. Then three. But they kept coming. And coming.
One of the fallen corpsicles clambered back to its feet as we moved past it, and latched on to Nonnie’s left arm, pulling her dangerously close to its mouth.
Nonnie screamed and powered through, with a deadly right skillet to its face. Its head exploded like a piñata, producing a spectacular spray of zushi.
Another biter zeroed in on Nonnie.
Leo pulled the .44 and aimed way too close to my head for comfort.
If he was off an inch or two, I’d be the next corpse on the floor. I ducked.
He fired, taking out the rotter, nearly losing his balance from the recoil.
Nonnie caught him by the collar of his pajama top and we continued our push toward the hallway.
“Kulu. Kuulluu.” Nonnie called.
Damned if that bird didn’t come right to her and perch on her shoulder. What the hell was her secret? I couldn’t make that pissy little pecker-head take a drink of water if she was dying of thirst.
The battle raged for what seemed like an eternity, although it was only a matter of minutes and most of our remaining bullets, until we cleared the hallway.
Then Rico and Ferris joined me at the rear of our group, holding off the endless swarm of rotters that followed us, as we funneled down the passage.
Leo reached the bedroom door first and threw it open. We all piled inside and slammed the door shut, locking it behind us. Rico and Ferris slid the dresser in front of the door, to hold the horde at bay.
The wooden door shimmied in its frame as the biters flung themselves against it, over and over again. Each time they pushed forward, the door creaked and groaned. It would only hold so long.
Where in the hell had I put the key to the weapons cabinet Nonnie installed?
No time to figure that out. I shot the lock off the cabinet and pointed to the stockpile of ammo inside it.
“Leo, take our empty mags and fill them with 9 mils.”
Leo plopped on the floor and started filling our empties. The hinges on the door were beginning to give. Leo struggled to fill our mags, his hands shaking so bad, he kept fumbling the bullets.
Rico and Ferris scoured the cabinet for alternative weapons and I joined Leo on the floor.
“You’re doing fine, champ,” I said. “How ‘bout tossing me a mag, so I can get in on the fun.”
Nonnie’s eyes gleamed when she spied the flamethrower propped inside the corner of the cabinet. She dove for it and Little Allie screamed, nearly bursting my eardrums.
“Don’t even think about it, Nonnie,” I scolded. “We’re not sending my house up in flames.”
My house—with its busted windows, flattened furniture and wall-to-wall zushi. Splatz wouldn’t know what hit them.
Sirens roared in the distance. Lots of them. No sooner did I breathe a sigh of relief than the top hinge on the door broke free. Rico and Ferris pushed the dresser tighter against the door.
I tossed a fresh mag to Rico, as a lone biter smashed through the door, toppling the dresser and knocking Rico over.
The airborne mag sailed over Rico’s head. The biter fell, landing on the overturned dresser, inches from Rico’s neck.
It rolled off the dresser to its knees, and lunged for him.
I slapped a fresh mag into Hawk and took aim, but Nonnie obliterated the biter’s head with a single swipe of the skillet.
Kitchen Accessories: Two. Biters: Zero.
Tires squealed and gravel pelted the house as cars roared up the driveway. Loud voices and rapid fire burst through the house. Bullets strafed through the bedroom wall and we dove for cover.
“It’s us!” I screamed. “For God’s sake, stop. We’ve got live ammo in here.”
The shooting slowed to an occasional shot and soon stopped altogether.
I climbed to my feet and walked to what was left of the doorway, hung back from the opening, and called, “Friendlies. Coming out.”
We wandered into the hallway and beheld the carnage. My house. My battered, beaten, block of Swiss cheese house. Rotters lay on top of rotters, piled three deep, in some places, even higher.
Leo and I stood at the end of the hallway, heads on a swivel.
“You payed up on your homeowners?” Leo asked.
Something plopped on my head. I glanced up and cringed. Oh. This was so going to suck.
Hundreds of biter bits dangled like spitballs from the ceiling, waiting for gravity to work its magic. One by one, the bits fell in random order, bombing everything in their path.
I took Leo by the arm and meandered to the couch, shoving a pile of dead rotters off the cushions, making room for us. There we sat, me leaning over him, sheltering him from the rot bombs.
Dickhead, Cap and Weston finally arrived and entered my house through the gaping hole where the back door used to be.
Dickhead hung at the opening and hollered in. “How’s Leo?”
The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow.
Leo was horrible. Leo would probably die soon. But one look in his proud, tired eyes and I realized that I would rather cut off my arm than give up on him.
“Leo? Leo’s a fucking hero,” I said. “Not to mention a kickass zombie hunter. He helped keep us alive. But I think he should go to the hospital, now. You know. Just to make sure he’s okay.”
The EMTs were already there. Rico and Ferris said they would ride with Leo to the hospital and take the next shift.
I winked, my tears nearly spilling, as they carried Leo out. “You’re tough as they come, buddy. See you in a bit.”
Nonnie walked alongside him to the ambulance, and then stooped to kiss his forehead. “You come home tomorrow. I make lasagna.”
She glanced back at what was left of my kitchen, and added, “Maybe, my house.”
Dickhead and Cap trailed after Rico and Ferris, no doubt hell-bent on getting their debriefing at the hospital, while Leo was being evaluated.
Weston stayed behind, taking pictures of my house…the crime scene.
The sun would be up soon.
I dialed Splatz. “Hey, it’s Allie. Oh, you heard on the scanner. Yeah, it’s bad… No. Way worse than the morgue. Like the morgue times infinity. Bring a carpenter…and a drywaller…and paint…and primer. Lots of primer. See you in five.”
I started to hang up, but stopped. “Hey, I almost forgot. Before you get started here, hit my neighbor’s back yard. The Winstels. The ones on the right. Okay?”
Jimmy asked me where to send the bill.
I looked at the phone and blanched. “Sure as hell not to me. Send it to Director Horton at the FBI office, here in town. One more thing. This place has to be livable within twenty-four hours.”
I waited for him to stop yelling.
“Bullshit,” I said. “You work miracles every day. Just do your magic and make sure the walls and doors are up. The finishing work can wait. Thanks, man.”
I leaned back on the couch, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath for the first time in hours. It wasn’t long before I drifted off.
Damned, if Weston’s phone didn’t ring, rousing me from my nap. He answered it on the third ring. “Yo!”
Yo? Yo…
Yo! The brain bitch screamed. I bolted awake and craned my neck toward Weston, who was already immersed in conversation.
What do you know? The answer had been right in my face all along.
Now, where did I leave that phone?