Timothy Long - Beyond the Barriers

My hands were shaking on the steering wheel like I’d just bench pressed a couple of hundred pounds. I couldn’t control them. My breath was fast and ragged, and it took an effort to slow it down. I didn’t want to hyperventilate; I was already feeling lightheaded from the fight.

I needed to find a way back to the main street and get back to the cabin. I’d be damned if I was going to stay stuck in this town with those howling things. I could always hit the convenience store I passed earlier and raid whatever was left of their food.

I started to take a left onto a side street that would lead back to my house. I was here, and it seemed worthwhile to retrieve all of the things I had hidden in the space under the house. I could also gather up any canned goods and add those to my hoard.

I also wanted to check on my neighbors, particularly Devon and his wife. Maybe they were okay and holed up. Maybe they had banded together with some of the others on my block. Maybe they were with the screaming horde I had just fled.

It was looking like I had lost them when they poured into the street again. There were hundreds this time, and they were coming from the trees along the secondary road. I hit the brakes and spun around in a circle then zipped back to highway 322. I could always find another way to get to the old house later on.

When I came up on the main drag, a group of them was busy pushing cars into my path. I spun the wheel to the left, hard, and took to the sidewalk, mowing down several in the process. They thumped off the hood of the car, and one left a trail of blood on the already red hood. Crimson waves of it seemed to smash down on me, as I thought of the end I was facing. I couldn’t imagine what these people wanted, nor did I care to stick around and find out.

I left the sidewalk and there were more of them. I was within sight of the Walmart I had raided a few months ago, what seemed like a lifetime ago. They were everywhere. I honked at them to get out of the way, but they just snarled at me as I bumped into them. Without risking serious damage to the car, there was no way to push through them.

Not all of them moved fast. Some were slack jawed, empty eyed, hands raised as if in supplication. They were not frenzied as the green ones.

One threw something under the car, and I felt it give way and collapse to the side with an audible pop. They had flattened the tire with some sort of spike. The thing had been flat, with nails driven into it, and looked like a club one would see in medieval times. If I could get my hand on it, I was going to make the fuckers pay dearly before they took me down.

I drove as hard as I could, but it was soon on a metal rim. Another pop forced me to slow down. One of them darted forward and slashed the rear tire on that side.

It wouldn’t be long now. I took my hands off the wheel and jammed as many shells as I could into the shotgun. I lost count of how many rounds I had fired, and just filled until no more would go in. They surrounded the car, and I tried to keep my foot on the gas, but the weight of them combined with the flat tires slowed me to a stop. I guessed the rear window would be my undoing.

I opened the sunroof and slithered up onto the seat. One of them was climbing onto the top of the car, so I blew a hole in his midsection first. I planted my hands on the side of the car, so I would have a chance to run and not get stuck inside when they took me down. I lifted up and sat on the edge of the roof and shot another one. The blast took her in the shoulder, spinning her into the crowd with a massive spray of blood. I swung my leg up and stood on the top of the car so I had a full view of the area around me. The metal underneath me was flimsy and buckled as I jockeyed for position.

I kicked another one with my size twelve boot, and then shot another in the face.

There were too many of them—a veritable ocean of the things. I wondered if I should just put the barrel under my chin and do myself in. I didn’t want to be eaten by these things. So let them feast on my corpse and choke on it.

I swung the gun up and braced it against my body as a pair climbed onto the blood- and brain-splattered hood. I smiled at one—a big, full-mouthed grin—and then pulled the trigger.

Click.

Not good!

I fumbled for a shell. It fell out of my pocket and rolled down the side of the car. I bashed the first freak over the head with the stock of the shotgun. Big hollow thunk as he went down. I lashed out behind with one foot and caught a tall, skinny kid in the gut. He fell on his face, so I smashed his head into the roof with my foot.

Went for another shell, got it, slid it home. Now I was surrounded on every side, and I would never get the damn thing up to blow my own brains out. One of them rose in front of me with a howl. His mouth was wide open, but my ringing ears didn’t hear him. I whipped my hand up to slash at his throat, but he teetered on unsure feet, and I ended up slashing him across the chin with the edge of my hand. I had planned to smash his throat. Another scrambled up behind me. Well, here we go.

A shot rang out, and I half-expected to feel a punch as it struck my body. The one in front of me dropped, then another shot sounded in the distance, and one dropped onto the hood of the car.

I spun around and punched the guy behind me. A full blow with the shoulder behind it that rocked my wrist, even though I stiffened it just before impact. He flew back, and then there were gunshots all around.

“Get the fuck down!” someone called out , and I didn’t look around to see if the guy was serious. Instead I dropped to the hood of my car and started popping shells into the shotgun.

Blasts bounced off the SUV or settled in the metal. There was screaming, which came through loud and clear as my hearing returned. Bodies dropped on either side, heads exploded, chunks flew, blood misted; it was like a warzone. I slithered onto the car via the sunroof, banging both elbows and my left knee in the process. I ended up with my ass in the air, staring at the gas pedal as I tried to right myself.

The things outside the car were no longer interested in me, having discovered the much more accessible flesh of their fallen comrades. What sort of creatures were these? Since I rolled into my old town, I had no time to stop and consider the things. More shots broke up the mob, and they soon got the message and cleared the street. I forgot to turn the engine off in my haste, so all I had to do was pop the car in drive and hit the gas. The SUV squealed as two metal rims skittered over the ground, but it did move.

There was a group of men on the little ridge that lined the road leading up the rise to the big Walmart. Ironically, they were in the same spot that I had been in when I shot the attacking zombie in the face a few months ago. That fateful day I had made my run to the store to collect supplies to hole up and wait it out.

As I squealed up the small road, I noticed that a giant metal fence surrounded the place. They stood before it, five or six of them, and laid down fire, gesturing for me to hurry up. I must have looked pretty ridiculous in my car, rubbing metal on the road, sparks flying as I tried to outrun a bunch of bloodthirsty demons.

I made it to the little road leading up the hill, and then pulled up and into a giant metal gate that they were opening for me. The men—well, men and women. I saw it was an even mix—shot as they ran, three dropping to their knees and shooting at any of the things that still followed me. The other three ran a few feet, and then laid down covering fire for the others. They moved with a military precision that impressed the hell out of me.

The parking lot was a mess of cars, trucks, and even a couple of semi trucks. They were scattered all over the place, and most looked to be in good condition. The heavy metal fence slammed shut behind me. I pulled over, but a man gestured me forward, so I steered the squealing car along a road that ran up toward the big store. When I reached the front of the store, I pulled into a parking spot.