Floyd & Mikki (Book 1): Zombie Hunters (Love Should Be Explosive!) (21 page)

Floyd and Mikki spent their last night in the cabin locked in each other’s arms, bodies wrapped desperately around each other. Neither knew when they’d have the chance to be together like this again—or if they’d even live to see another sunrise—so they made the most of the opportunity they’d been given. They wouldn’t get much sleep but they could take turns driving and napping in the truck. As big as Freedom was, there was barely enough room to nap sitting up, and no room for any horizontal activity.

Some of the camp dwellers wanted to come along in one of the buggies or on motorcycle. In the end, the group decided they couldn’t risk splitting up the community or sending everyone out into the unknown. As usual, the greatest fear was about what might happen to the children. The world was a dangerous place now. A dangerous place, indeed.

Floyd and Mikki agreed to go on ahead and send word back if everything checked out. For all they knew, New California Haven could still be just a hoax, some kind of cruel joke. Or worse, a trap set by raiders to lure the unsuspecting into their lair, along with everything they owned. It would take at least two weeks to get there, assuming the roads weren’t blocked, and they didn’t run into any more raiders, or an army of the undead, or some other damn thing to cause delay. Other than that, they should have enough food, water and gas to make the trip. Should have. Maybe.

Bob wrote down the radio frequency for Floyd, just in case. It didn’t seem likely Floyd would find another ham radio anywhere along the way, but if the place in California was real, they could send word back. Mikki showed John and the others her trademark logo of the heart with F+M in the middle of it. She promised to mark their way so they could follow. If they turned off the interstate or deviated from the directions in any way, she would mark the path to guide them.

If they didn’t hear anything over the radio and Floyd and Mikki didn’t come back, they would stay at the campsite and use the weapons and vehicles to raid nearby zombie towns for more supplies, as needed. The camp had proven safe, if small, and the pair had made it far safer by killing Cement Head and clearing out the local wildlife.

It wasn’t said aloud, but everyone understood that Floyd and Mikki were two tough sons of bitches. If they couldn’t make it to California and back, that probably meant the community wouldn’t have a chance, either.

Loaded up with ammo, water, several loaves of freshly baked bread, and some cooked fish, Floyd and Mikki hit the road again. Mikki told Floyd they had gotten out of there just in time. A couple of the ladies had taken a liking to Mikki and offered to teach her to knit.

And there was one more addition to Floyd’s truck. As Mikki suggested, he had drilled a few holes and mounted Cement Head as a hood ornament (it was so big that took up about a quarter of the hood).

Floyd drove, which gave Mikki a chance to play with Munch. She had the cat in her lap and was dangling a piece of string over its head. The zombie kitten kept batting at it, grabbing it, and playing with it.

“Do you have to play with that damn diseased thing while I’m driving?” Floyd asked.

“You rather I play with her when I’m driving? Or you just don’t like to see me to play with my pussy?”

She had a wicked grin on her face, as Floyd shot her a dirty look. “You know what I mean,” he said.

“Besides, I ain’t playing. It’s research.”

“Research? Playing with some undead freak of nature is research?”

“Of course! Look at how she loves the string. Get the string! Get it! Get it! Now listen to this.”

Mikki hid the string and started scratching Munch behind the ears. The cat hunkered down into Mikki’s lap. Then it started…purring! Sort of. It was an odd raspy kind of zombie purr, but the kitten was definitely purring!

“See? She’s purring!”

“Yes! And dogs bark and the cow goes moo. Congratulations! You’ll win the Nobel Prize for that research.”

“Don’t you see? It’s freakin’ dead! It shouldn’t be purring. It shouldn’t be playing with string. It should be trying to bite me. That should be all it knows. That’s all the human creepers know. But when I show it a piece of string, Munch plays with it. When I scratch her head, she purrs. She stops trying to bite me and becomes a cat again.”

“OK, you have a very odd but interesting point. So what does that mean?”

“Well, I got to thinkin’ about it after we met Cement Head. Human creepers can’t climb trees, so how come a creeper bear could? And those wolves, they still howled and attacked as a pack. That dog back at the pet shop jumped at us. Those cats at the crazy lady’s house—”

“Don’t mention that house!”

“Point is, how come they can do all them animal things they did before, but human creepers can’t?”

“I have no idea. And does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! The more we know about these things, the better we can survive against ‘em. Think about it. We know human creepers can’t turn a doorknob, can’t drive a car, can’t climb a ladder…all these things is learned behavior. They can throw something, but a baby can do that. Human creepers can’t plan, they can’t make traps. They can’t reason.

“But animals don’t use reason, Floyd! They is born with instincts and they live by instincts. That’s why the rats could chew a hole in the wall to get at Zeke. That’s why the bear could climb a tree. These things ain’t smart, they’re just doing what their brains is hardwired to do!”

“What about that damned parrot in the pet shop? It kept saying, ‘We’re all gonna die!’”

“Come on! You know parrots don’t really talk, Floyd. They just hear somethin’ until it gets ingrained in their brain. It’s just doin’ what it does as a bird. No doubt it heard the pet store owner sayin’ that over and over again.”

“So the next time we run into a bunch of zombie rats, all we gotta do is turn loose a bunch of zombie cats?”

“Exactly! Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, I ain’t planning on goin’ back to any place with zombie rats. And for another thing, I sure as hell ain’t rounding up a bunch of zombie cats!”

Floyd had to admit Mikki had some good points, but he didn’t see how any of it benefitted them right now. And Munch still weirded him out, especially after the incident at the Wilkerson place. Still, he found himself just a little more objective and a little more fascinated as he looked over at Mikki playing with the kitten. A little. Not much.

“Something Ranger John said has been buzzin’ around in my brain,” Floyd began. “Remember how he said they were safe in a boat on the lake?”

“Yeah. They caught some good fish, too. Tasted great. Good to know, since you can’t eat creeper cow.”

“Right. That’s one part of the food chain that didn’t get diseased. Well, what if other people figured out it’s safe on the water? People with a well-stocked lake?”

“Whatta you got in mind?”

“Here. Open this map.”

Mikki unfolded the battered piece of paper. There was a circle around a lake. It was on their way, and it wasn’t too far off the interstate they were traveling on. Lake Havasu, Arizona.

“Hey, Floyd! There’s a sign for Las Vegas. Wanna stop by and do a little gambling?”

Floyd laughed as he drove. “Haha! Right! Three years ago, sure. But now? All the tourists in that place from all over the world…can you imagine how many brain-eaters must be there? Like a bad horror movie.”

“Shit. You’re no fun.”

“I know, you haven’t blown up anything for more than a day and you’re going through withdrawal, aintcha?”

“Haha! You know it! I wonder if they have Alanon for grenade addicts.”

“I think it’s called Pyromaniacs Anonymous.”

“Nah, that’s for setting fires, not blowin’ shit up.”

“Whatever. I think you missed the meeting, anyway.”

“Seriously though, can I have a couple o’ your grenades? I’m runnin’ low.”

“Hell no! The reason you’re runnin’ low is you keep blowin’ up everything that moves. Including
us
, if you remember!”

“Well, it’s not my fault if you never use ‘em.”

“I use ‘em.”

“Oh, right! When?”

“At the raider camp. I threw one when we attacked the rear wall.”

“Ooooh! One whole grenade! Look out! Floyd’s on the warpath! Well, we gotta find a place to restock soon, anyways. You gotta admit, they come in pretty handy so far.”

“Yeah, when I’m not picking shrapnel outta my ass!”

“Oh, please! One tiny chunk o’ shrapnel. And it was in your helmet, not your ass. And I picked it out, not you.”

“Much obliged.”

“You should be. Hey, Floyd! Music store! Pull over!”

“What the hell for? You won’t find any grenades in there.”

“No, dumbass! Tunes for the CD player!”

Floyd let out a heavy sigh. “OK, on one condition.”

“Sure, what?”

“Promise me that no matter what, you won’t blow anything up this time…especially us!”

“Unless there’s cats?”

“OK, unless there’s cats.”

“No promises.”

“Oh, what the hell. I could use a pit stop anyway.”

The interstate had degraded to a two lane asphalt highway along this stretch. Besides the occasional tiny dirtwater town and empty shops along the side of the road, they had blown by several groups of undead meandering about over the past couple of hours. Actually plowed right through a small group at one point, to Mikki’s delight. The girl was seriously twisted. The snow plow Floyd had welded to the front grill proved to come in pretty handy, though.

Floyd pulled off the road into a dirt and gravel parking lot (if you could even call it that). Nobody had been around this place in a long while. Nobody still alive, anyway. There were only two cars in the parking lot, so it wasn’t likely that too many brain-eaters would be inside.

A diner, a gas station and a few other assorted buildings dotted the landscape. None of the structures were close enough to pose a threat, unless brain-eaters had suddenly learned to use rocket skates. Even so, neither Floyd nor Mikki were going to take any unnecessary risks. They pulled on their helmets, checked their radios, loaded up, and headed out with Bonnie and Clyde, ready for action.

Mikki put Munch back into her bag, closed the drawstring and hung it up on the hook behind her, as far away from Floyd as possible. Part of her was still amazed that he hadn’t blown a gasket and thrown the kitten out onto the interstate by now. She figured it was partly that he knew how much she liked the cat, and partly because he couldn’t bring himself to touch it.

“Mic check.”

Mikki heard Floyd’s voice in her helmet. “Sounds good,” she replied.

“Alright, here we go again.”

They exited on opposite sides of Freedom. As Mikki came around the front of the truck, she asked, “Hey, Floyd! You wanna hand?”

“With what?”

“Nothing. I just asked if you wanted a hand.”

She held up a severed hand she had dislodged from the truck’s grill. Apparently one of the creepers that briefly made the acquaintance of Freedom’s new plow had left a memento behind. Mikki tossed the dismembered member at Floyd, who let it bounce off his chest and land on the ground.

“You seriously need help. You know that, dontcha, Mikki”

“Well, when the creepers is all gone and the world goes back to normal, you can pay to send me to therapy.”

“Ha! Ain’t enough money in all the world to pay for that much therapy.”

They checked out the two cars before heading over to the stores. The first one was completely empty. Nothing useful appeared to be inside. They moved over to the second car and suddenly a child’s face plastered itself against the inside of the window. Mikki jumped back and Floyd nearly had a heart attack.
I’m getting too old for this shit
, he thought.

The kid inside appeared to have been a little boy, maybe about nine years old. Unlike other brain-eaters, he looked more like a mummy than a zombie. Central Casting must have sent him to the wrong movie lot. His skin was so dry, it was peeling off his face and his dried-out eyes were sunken inside their sockets.

“Geez,” Mikki commented, “Why do parents leave their kids locked in a car in the heat?”

They headed to the record store as the raisin kid kept banging against the window. He couldn’t open the door so they left him there. No sense wasting ammo.

There was a large, unbroken glass window in front of the store. Faded and peeling posters highlighting several bands were rotting inside the display. The front door was unlocked, so Floyd turned the knob and slowly pushed in the door. They both jumped when the door triggered an assembly of tinny little bells that jingled loudly, right above their heads. Mikki almost blasted them but somehow managed to keep her finger from squeezing the trigger.

“Damn!” she said softly.

Almost immediately, Floyd was attacked by one of the ugliest little Chihuahuas he had ever seen. The hideous little beast barreled down on him from around a corner, yapping its sick little undead yelps all the way. Floyd thought the bug-eyed little freaks were ugly enough when they were alive, but to see those bulbous peepers dripping gooey white film was beyond sick and wrong. The little rat-dog chomped onto Floyd’s ankle and wouldn’t let go.

“What the hell? Why do these damn things always head straight for me?” Floyd whined.

“I heard once that animals can smell stupid.”

“That’s fear! They can smell fear!”

“Either, or. Whatever fits.”

“What? You ain’t gonna blow us up now?”

“I ain’t wasting a grenade on his little doggy ass! Now, you whip up another creeper bear or some kinda giant mutated sewer rat and I’ll use one of
your
grenades to take it out.”

“Careful what you wish for. And I told you, you ain’t touching my grenades.”

“Yes, sir! Mr. Man, sir!”

“And stop saying that!”

Mikki snickered inside her helmet. A creeper came around the corner of one of the shelves of music CDs and headed straight for them. Floyd took it out with a quick blast to the head. Another soon followed and this time, Mikki did the honors. They walked up and down each aisle, but there were no more to worry about. Throughout the whole thing, little Popeye clung furiously to Floyd’s ankle, growling a sickly little growl.

“All right, I’ve had enough of you,” said Floyd, who kicked as hard as he could, sending the tiny animal into the air. It hit the wall hard with a thud and a quick yelp, leaving a smeared stain as it slowly slid all the way down to the floor.

“Nice wall art, Floyd.”

“Thanks. See what music you like.”

Mikki walked up and down through the aisles and found the oldies section. She was like a kid in a candy store. She started grabbing CDs until her arms were full. Floyd found a large CD folder and dropped it on the counter for her. Then he headed off to use the restroom. As he came back out, he noticed something in one corner of the store.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Floyd thought to himself. He looked back at Mikki who was oblivious to anything but her quest for the ultimate assembly of tunes, then checked out what he had found.

It was an old claw machine filled with kid’s prizes inside. In the old days, people would put in a dollar for a chance or two at snagging one of the toys. Floyd sucked at this game. He could never seem to grab anything with the claw. He looked the game up and down, then bashed in the plastic side panel with the butt end of his shotgun.
Much easier to grab a toy this way.

“You OK, Floyd?” Mikki asked in the headset, hearing the noise.

“Absolutely.”

“Alrighty, then.”

Floyd left the store for a minute, then came back in. He surveyed the multiplicity of artists in Mikki’s collection: EAGLES, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Bob Seger, The Who—even Elvis, Frank Sinatra and Bobby Darin. As long as she didn’t pick up any Kidz Bop CDs, Floyd had no objections.

“What, no opera?” Floyd remarked.

Mikki held up a
Rigoletto
CD before stuffing it into one of the album sleeves. “It’s about a dad who won’t let her daughter see the man she loves, and accidentally gets her killed. I got some ‘Wagner,’ too.”

“You know his name’s pronounced ‘Vahgner,’ right?”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Well, you sure have a variety there.”

“A whole lot easier to stay awake on the road with good music. And look! I even found a boom box! Not too big and the batteries are still good!”

“I found something for you, too,” Floyd said.

“Really? What?”

Floyd couldn’t see her face through the helmet, but there was excitement in her voice. “I put it in the car. Come see.”

Mikki tagged the door with a big red heart and their logo and the two headed for the truck. Mikki carried Bonnie in her right hand, the boom box in her left hand, and the CD portfolio under her left arm. Floyd took off his helmet, opened the passenger side door for her, and announced, “Tada!”

Mikki didn’t get what the big deal was at first. Floyd had to point out the Hello Kitty doll he had snagged from the claw machine and propped up in the passenger seat.

“What, that’s it?” Mikki asked, confused, as she took off her helmet. “Thanks, Floyd, I guess.”

“That’s it? I thought you’d be thrilled.”

“About what?”

“Well, you lost your other doll to the rats! I figured you must have had it since you were a kid. I know I can’t really replace something like that, but…”

Mikki burst out laughing, as Floyd stared at her, perplexed. “Oh, Floyd! You big doofus! I stole that doll from a zombie kid about a year ago, right after I blew its brains out. It was just a war trophy. My old man would never buy me shit like that when I was growin’ up!” Floyd looked both stunned and stupid.

“But that was awfully sweet of you Floyd, thanks. I’ll keep this one, just to think of you.”

“Well, in that case,” he took the doll back and pulled out a black Sharpie marker from his pants pocket. He drew a big X over each of the eyes, made an upside-down curve for a frown, then drew some drool coming out of the bottom of the “mouth,” turning it into a zombie.

“There you go. Oh Hell Kitty.”

“Oh, Floyd!” she squealed, laughing. “You really are the best!” She gave him a big kiss on the cheek. If space in the cab had been less cramped and they weren’t stuck in the middle of Zombie Town, she would have given him something else.