Mark Tufo - Zombie Fallout

“Hey, good boy. You’re a good boy aren’t you? Right?” They say animals can sense fear. If so, we were both in trouble. My teeth were chattering and Bear’s tail was wedged between his legs. “What’s the matter boy? Is it the zombies?”

Well, that doesn’t make any sense, now does it. He would have been better off staying in the house. I dared a glimpse back to try to ascertain what in that now harshly uninviting house had scared this brute to his core. His head lowered imperceptibly as I inched closer. My hand was inches from its massive skull. One bite and he could have half my arm. I undid the latch and he pushed the gate open with his nose. Bear looked back once as if to say ‘Thanks’ or ‘Are you coming?’ Either way, he didn’t wait long to find out. He galloped off, long strings of saliva dragging on the ground doing little to stop his momentum.

I should have left. I wanted to leave. I also wanted my Glock back. I had paid a lot for the gun and I loved it. Stupid gun. I walked back to the door. Even with the shades off, the place seemed darker than it should, almost as if there were anti-lights in there. Some device designed to remove light and replace it with darkness. ‘That’s crazy talk, are you hearing yourself? Yeah, and you are also having dialogue with yourself. True, true, but still anti-lights, that sounds like something out of a scary movie. Yeah well so do zombies.’ I stopped in my tracks, I hate it when I’m right.

“I just have to get my gun,” I said aloud, maybe to make it sound more convincing.

I wouldn’t have to go in more than a foot or two. I stuck my head back in the blackness, fearful that if I went in too far I would be sucked into a portal of the damned, forever lost in a land of the insane. How close to right I was I could not have known. I felt around the tangled fallen shades, convinced that I would find my prize momentarily and be able to get out of there unscathed. That is of course, unless someone was videotaping my escape from the shades. All dignity had been lost at that point. I was on all fours patting around the floor, not liking how vulnerable I was feeling, nothing. I even pulled the shades out the door to make sure the gun wasn’t hung up in the slats somehow and I had missed it.

‘Damn it!’ I muttered as I stood up and took my first full step across the threshold. I didn’t feel the rush of teleportation but that didn’t make me feel any better. I took another step and then another into the gloom; the smell worsened. I wasn’t going to be caught off guard again. I brought my rifle to the ready. Another step, still no Glock. I was halfway across the living room when I spotted a reflective glint of metal. It was partly down the hallway where my new dearly departed friend had first showed himself. I could not even begin to understand how it could have made that distance. I was feeling like a baited rabbit being led to slaughter, but I couldn’t help myself, I inched forward. I was smart enough to see the design of the trap but not smart enough to get out before it was sprung. If the design for this model town home held true, then the gun was positioned directly in front of a small bathroom, easily big enough to hide four or five zombies. Sweat beaded up on my brow. My hands were getting clammy. My exhausted heart once again began its furious beating. I stopped, waiting for some small scuffling sound, or a cough or a sneeze. But near as I can tell zombies don’t sneeze or cough or lay traps for that matter. Something sinister was happening, I knew without any doubt. If I didn’t hurry this along I was going to need to use that bathroom before I went ahead and wet myself. No noise issued from the impossibly blacker entrance to the bathroom.

I was leaning forward stretching my arm as far as it would go, wishing I would become one of my favorite childhood toys, Stretch Armstrong. If I remember correctly it didn’t end well for him either, green goo everywhere. I shuddered. I had my left arm straight out in front of me, my right arm gripping the rifle like a vise, and my head swiveling like a top between the entryway and the floor. When I looked away, I felt my neck was dangerously exposed, not that it mattered to these zombies. They would just as soon chew into my smelly feet. That was not a comforting thought. My hand scraped against the edge of the gun barrel. Heartbeat after heartbeat I desperately tried to grip the gun. I turned my head to better locate my quarry and all hell broke loose. A loud sound came from the bathroom. I pushed myself off to the left, falling over and hitting the far wall. Hands gripped around my neck. The rifle was useless, the barrel sticking out farther than my assailant. I pulled the trigger anyway hoping the noise would scare it away. Nothing! The safety was on! My fingers frantically scrambled for the selector lever. The grip around my neck was making starbursts in my eyes.

“I’m sick of passing out!” I screamed.

My hand came off my useless weapon at the same time the pressure on my carotid artery loosened. I reached my hands up to my neck, and felt nothing except the nylon of my rifle sling. In my panic I had cinched it tight. The noise whooshed again from the bathroom. This time my rationality took over and I knew the sound for what it was. The toilet bowl was leaky and would periodically have to refill itself. “What is wrong with me? I could make a whole ‘America’s Funniest Home Fuck-Ups’ episode,” I laughed a little to ease my inner tension. A few more jolts to the heart like this and I was bound to spring a leak somewhere. I sat on the floor and readjusted my rifle. With pistol in right hand I placed my left on the floor to assist in my ascent. It was then that I felt the slow heavy vibrations emanating up through the floor. I have to be a sadist. Why I didn’t think I had had enough I’ll never know. I knew the sound for what it was, club music. I had a neighbor that loved that techno crap. He played it morning, noon and night until I had a long talk with him. It was actually a short talk but it was a long barrel. I told him I was going skeet shooting, but that my wife was sleeping and if he could keep it down I’d appreciate it. His head nodded at all the right times but his eyes never left the steely black barrel. Never did have to go over there again. In fact, he moved out the next month. Hope it wasn’t anything I said.

What do I care if there is some other yahoo in this world that likes techno music, I need to get out of here. I knew all about ‘The Make My Day Law.’ I voted for it. So far I had broken into his house, damaged his property and let his dog go. I’m sure he wasn’t going to invite me in to his party. I opened the door to the basement. All of my senses were assaulted. Now I knew why there was no light on the main floor. Everything he owned was in the basement. Light flooded like a supernova. The music (if you want to call it that) was eardrum shatteringly loud. In the worst of my Heavy Metal loving days I had never turned Iron Maiden on half as loud, and to top it off I had found the origins of the stench that pervaded this abode. Every cell in my body protested forward motion and yet into the light I went. I checked and rechecked that I had a bullet in the chamber and the safety was off, even though I knew Glocks don’t have an external safety. I instinctively knew I was going to need bullets, again with the psychic crap. I had no clue but this felt wrong, and for good or bad I was going to find out.

The basement was finished, for that I was thankful. It meant that my descent down would go unnoticed. Otherwise, there would be that time of exposure where only my legs would be visible from below as I went down the stairs. Then like a cheap horror flick, there would always be the potential of a hand coming up through the openings in the stairs to grab my ankles. This should have made me feel better but it didn’t. My eyes were having a difficult time adjusting from soul sucking black to radiant dawn white. I found myself excessively squinting. Then I began to ponder why there wasn’t some form of ‘squinting’ for ears, the better to shield me from the crap coming over his speaker system. As I neared the bottom step I saw tiny moving reflections of light somehow brighter than the ambient lighting. I had seen this before. It was from a disco ball. Well, out of the frying pan and into the fire. I stepped onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs and then cautiously peered into the main room of the basement. At one time this was a playroom for kids. Video games, board games, and a rocking horse were carefully stacked in the far corner of the room, but that was not the case anymore. It was a playroom allright, but one with far more sinister games and only the highly deranged played in here anymore.