I pulled open the hall closet, just to be sure. Neatly folded towels, extra sheets, and bathroom supplies filled the shelves.
I ran down the hall, past the doors without pause, and down the stairs. At the bottom of the last step, I stopped, and listened.
“Allison?” I whispered. “Alley?”
A dish broke. No mistaking that sound. I went right, toward what I assumed to be the kitchen. Through the dining room, I saw a standoff. Allison held her hedge clippers closed, like a two-handled sword. She thrust the weapon out and at Donald, the one-handed asshole.
I hate to say this is going to be fun, but I’d be lying otherwise.
“Hey, Donny,” I said, “you go after my kids, huh? You try to eat my kids?”
Donald turned his head. My voice was more interesting than the threat Allison posed.
“That’s right,” I said. “Here I am. I’d love for you to come and get me.”
He stepped around the kitchen island. I hated the hanging pots and pans. The whole kitchen decor sucked. The tiled back splash, and chrome appliances. The marble counter tops were horrendous. Might be expensive, might be color-schemed perfectly, but it look like shit to me. I’d take my kitchenette, with apartment provided stove and refrigerator any day.
Donald lunged. Fast. Wasn’t expecting it. Thought he was a slower zombie. Figured it was how Charlene got the better of him and why Allison held him at bay. I was wrong.
Like a linebacker, he hit me square in the chest. I reeled backward. Landed flat on the dining room table. A chair toppled over. I pulled my legs up and kicked out. My feet planted onto his shoulders and shoved him back into the kitchen, against the island.
Allison used a frying pan. Swung like Babe Ruth. Had his head been a loose baseball, it would have sailed out of the park. Instead, the clunk to the skull knocked him to his right, into the side of the refrigerator.
I got off the table, turned, and flipped it. I dropped my shovel, stood on the bottom side of the table, and pried free one of the legs.
“Chase,” Allison said. A warning.
I spun back to face my ex’s husband. He looked so old. Decrepit. This had nothing to do with his being infected and now a zombie. It was just who he was.
“My turn,” I said.
I swung. His skull caved as the table leg crashed into his ear. A tooth flew out of his mouth. I swung again. He dropped to his knees. The skull had cracked. I saw an overhang of white bone above the ear, and severed jawbone below. I swung again. He fell flat onto his face. I stood straddled on either side of his back, and swung, chopping downward. The leg splintered as it smashed time and again against the back of Donald’s skull.
“Chase,” Allison said.
I swung.
“Chase.”
I swung.
“Chase, that’s enough. We have to go. We have to go now.”
I stood over the corpse. I looked at my handiwork. Don’t let people lie to you. Revenge is satisfying. Fulfilling. It makes you feel better about yourself. Makes you feel like you came out on top. I took in a deep breath and sighed with pure gratification. “Let’s check the garage,” I said. “And the basement.”
I knew my kids weren’t here. I had to check the rest of the house. I couldn’t just leave without verifying they weren’t hiding under the car, or in the dryer.
“I got the basement,” Allison said.
“I’ll check the garage.”
We checked everywhere. Behind, under, and around things. It was like I thought. My kids were not here. There was no note, no . . .
Phone charger.
I ran back upstairs, and into my daughter’s room.
Julie was still sprawled out face down on the bed. A foamy puddle of spittle soaked the throw carpet under her face. That unbreakable string of saliva connected the pool to her mouth.
She moaned and groaned as I walked around the bed and snatched my daughter’s charger off the nightstand, and unplugged it from the wall. I lifted the broken frame off the floor and scattered the glass away with my fingers. I dug the actual photo free, looked at it for a long few seconds before folding and stuffing it into my pocket.
I took the charger from Cash’s room, too.
Downstairs, Allison stood by the door. “Everything okay?”
I held up the charger. “It’s not. But this helps,” I said.
It kind of did. I’d be able to charge my phone in the SUV. But if Charlene’s phone was dead, what good would it do me?
Absolutely, none.
A horn honked. Could have been the SUV. And again. Then a car alarm was activated. Whooping over and over.
Chapter Thirty
Allison and I charged out of Donald and Julie’s house. Out front, zombies surrounded the SUV. They pounded on the windows, climbed onto the hood. I counted ten. Eleven, one was behind the SUV, too.
Nothing slow or sluggish about them.
They wore t-shirts, basketball shorts, and high-tops. It was like our friends were being attacked by a high school basketball team. There was also a woman in rollers, and an unbelted baby blue bathrobe. The old man in briefs and nothing else, had more hair on his body than a Sasquatch.
If Josh and Dave weren’t in trouble, if this wasn’t really happening, it would be hysterical. I’d be laughing. Only, it wasn’t really Josh and Dave in trouble. It was Allison and me. They were in a truck. Locked away safe. We were out in the open.
I unclipped my radio. “Josh. Dave. Guys, get out of here. We’ll go back in the house. Come back for us later,” I said. I put an arm in front of Allison, swept her behind me, back into the house.
“Roger that.” Dave’s voice was crisp and clear over the radio.
The horn honked and honked as Josh backed out of the driveway.
At first I thought, what the hell is he doing? I realized then that he was drawing their attention. Keeping the zombies occupied. Saving Allison and me. Or, at the very least, buying time.
I locked the door, watched the SUV pull away from the house slowly, the zombies still on the hood, following and banging on the windows.
“What are we going to do?” Allison said.
“Be ready. Check the back door. Saw it in the kitchen, goes out onto a deck. Make sure we can get out that way,” I said.
Josh wasn’t leaving. He was bowling.
Once down the street, and clear of the monsters, Josh turned around and sped toward the gathered herd. Two things happened. Several of the zombies were hit, maimed, and some killed. While one of them bounced into the air, over the hood and smashed through the SUV windshield.
Josh braked hard. The SUV spun. Tire treads didn’t grab shit on the wet pavement. The zombie on the hood rolled onto the street and into a yard, inches from taking out a mailbox.
“We can get out the back door. No zombies back there.” Allison was panting, like she’d run there and back.
“They’ll all be out front with the noise Josh is making. Wait here. Watch them. They get into trouble--yell. I’ll be right back,” I said.
I left Allison at the door, ran into the kitchen. And stared at the walls. I didn’t see a place for hanging car keys. I checked drawers and all around where the phone was mounted.
Two cars in the driveway. Keys had to be somewhere. I knew when I got home, I walked in the apartment and dropped them onto the bookcase by the door. Along with my wallet and smokes.
I went back to the front door. Right there. A small table in the corner.
“What is it?” Allison said.
“We’re going to be riding in style, I think,” I said. “With the windshield smashed on that thing, it won’t be any good to us.”
Josh hadn’t let up. His plan worked, and backfired.
I depressed the button on the radio. “Josh, all the excitement is calling more zombies. I can see them coming down the street from inside the house.”
The SUV did a thump-da-thump-thump over a downed monster before the radio crackled. Dave’s voice came through with static over the small speaker. “This windows shot. Front end is a bit smashed.”