8
A green and white behemoth barrelled down the debris strewn streets of east San Francisco. Heads turned and dishevelled figures shambled after the garbage truck. Dallas had returned to the street where he had left the yellow Hummer and his new friends, but it was gone. Rick and the new girl, what was her name? Amy? Ali? Had tried to call him on the radio several times, and while he could hear them he couldn’t transmit. The damn transmit button didn’t work on the radio Rick had given him. There had been no time to let Rick know once things began to progress, and now Dallas was searching for them. Things were beginning to get dicey, as around every turn, throngs of infected would shuffle into view. Dallas was just thinking that he should cut and run for the docks when the radio blared to life, and scared the hell out of him.
“Dallas, Dallas come in!” Rick’s voice. “Dallas, if you can hear me, we’re holed up in the…” the radio went silent for a few seconds, “in the Wilbur Theater. It’s on Minna Street, about a mile south west of the Bay Bridge on-ramp. The Hummer is parked out front.”
Dallas smiled. He knew where Minna Street was. Unfortunately, it was in the other direction. He slammed on the brakes and the truck skidded to a halt. He proceeded to make a three point turn in the middle of the street he was on, backing into a white limousine with tinted windows in the process. The passenger door on the limo fell off, and as Dallas drove away he looked in the side mirror of the truck and could make out a zombie dressed in an evening gown stumbling out of the ruined luxury vehicle, but the ghoul was undoubtedly male.
“Musta been a hell of a party,” he said to himself.
The garbage truck continued to travel south, and the dead seemed to thin out a little. A blue Ford Escape zoomed by going north. There wasn’t that much to the north except the dead.
“To Hell in a hand-basket overnight,” Dallas mumbled. “Where is everybody, and why aren’t the streets clogged with cars?”
A lone, barefoot zombie wearing hospital scrubs stumbled into view down the street. It turned at the sound of the truck, and walked toward Dallas. Dallas was driving relatively slowly, but was coming up on the creature quickly regardless. The thing cut between two parked cars and stood staring at the truck as it approached. Dallas was steering to run it down when it stuck its thumb out like a hitch hiker. Dallas jerked the wheel to the left and jammed the brakes on, the rig squealing to a halt in front of the thing on the street. Dallas could see blood all over the hospital scrubs, but the person looked uninjured. The newcomer waved and ran up to the passenger door. He was all smiles as he pulled himself up to the window, only to face a big black shotgun pointed at his head. The man was in his early twenties, with short, cropped blond hair and a jagged scar on his left cheek. He continued smiling as Dallas questioned him.
“You bit?” Dallas asked.
“Nope, I’m Billy,” the man said through the glass, “Can I get a lift?”
Dallas reached over and unlocked the door. Billy climbed in and locked the door behind him. “Thanks,” he said. “Running around mostly naked isn’t conducive to long life right now,” he continued. “Are you gonna shoot me?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Dallas answered as he raised the barrel of the shotgun to the ceiling. “Are you sure you’re not bit?” he asked. “There’s a lot of blood on you.”
“Are you from the south?” Billy asked. “I’m from the south! South Boston!”
Dallas looked confused.
Billy frowned. “Sorry. Bugs Bunny reference. Where are we going?”
Dallas put the truck into first and started driving. “Son, if you’re bit, tell me now and we can figure out somethin’. We’re headed for other folks, and I don’t want any surprises later.”
“I wasn’t bitten by one of the infected if that’s what you mean,” Billy told him. “I was, however, repeatedly bitten by certain choices I have made in the past. Bitten right in the old pooper, if you catch my meaning.”
“Uhh, OK, so where’d the blood come from, did you have to fight your way here?”
“Oh most certainly.” Billy’s face lit up. “I’m quite adept at the whole survival thingie. A natural you might say.”
Dallas was confused, and apparently Billy could tell from the look on the southerner’s face.
“Not following me there huh, Forrest? The blood is from anything that got in the way of my great escape. I’ve destroyed sixteen of the infected today. I’m trying to leave the city, too crowded this time of year, and I’m not quite ready to shuffle loose the old mortal coil as it were.”
“Forrest?” asked Dallas.
“Gump!” Billy shot back quickly.
Dallas was taken aback. “You callin’ me stupid?” Now it was Billy’s turn to look confused.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Billy asked him.
“Didja call me Forrest because he was a feeb?”
“Ah,” began Billy, “No, I called you Forrest because both he and you are from the south. I said Gump when
you
said Forrest because I thought we were playing the association game. Trust me, I play that game all the time.”
“Dallas,” said Dallas, offering his hand.
“Pittsburgh!” The two shook hands.
“No, my name is Dallas .”
“You’re kidding? Are you from Texas?”
“What gave me away?” Dallas asked, looking at Billy. “Was it my…”
“STOP!” Billy shouted pointing to the road
A group of three undead were kneeling over a prone form in the middle of the road. The three were so intent on their meal, they were oblivious to the approaching vehicle. Dallas stopped the truck, and looked at Billy.
“I kinda have a place I need to be, what are we doing here?” Dallas asked.
“Upping the tally.” Billy said and he started opening the door.
“Whoa Hoss,” Dallas said grabbing Billy’s arm, “Where you goin’?”
“Don’t sweat it, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Dammit boy, this is unnecessary and damn dangerous!”
“Ha! You said damn twice in one sentence.” Billy jumped out of the truck and calmly approached the zombies. He strode nonchalantly up to the nearest one (Dallas would swear later that he heard him whistling) and stopped about three feet behind it.
“Ahem,” he said, “Excuse me? Typical.” Billy barefoot-kicked the kneeling former postal worker in his dead ass. The zombie pitched over, landing face first on the pavement. The thing got up, its face a mess, and looked at Billy. It cocked its head a little, and Billy followed suit. It took a step toward Billy and Billy took a step toward the creature. Both of them stopped, just looking at each other across a four foot span. It was like a vile display of Simon Says. Then the thing turned and knelt down to continue dining on the unfortunate victim, ignoring Billy completely.
Dallas was dumbfounded, Billy was pissed. He talked to himself as he walked over to a car with its hood up and trunk open and looked in the trunk. He pulled out a tire iron and jogged back to the brunch party. Billy pinned the weapon between his left arm and his side, and spit in his left palm. He rubbed his hands together, took up the tire iron in both hands, pointed to the horizon, and then brought it around in a huge arc, smacking the former postal worker in the temple. Then he began singing: “Grab a fencepost, hold it tight,” he crushed the skull of an undead bicycle courier. “Whomp your partner with all your might; hit him in the shin, hit him in the head,” Billy smashed the back of a high schooler’s skull, “hit him again that critter ain't dead!” The coup de grace was when he drove the pry end of the tire iron into the re-animating victim’s eye. The tire iron clanged to the street as Billy flung it away. He sauntered to the truck and climbed back in.
“What the hell just happened?” Dallas demanded.
“I just brought the total to twenty one?” Billy answered questioningly, his eyebrows raised.
“Why didn’t it come for you? It didn’t attack you!”
“Wasn’t interested?” Billy said. “I mean, did you see what they were eating? That chick must have been hot before they ripped into her. Like super-model hot, I bet she…
Dallas interrupted, “What the fuck are you talking about, they DIDN’T ATTACK YOU!”
“Easy Pittsburgh, I thought this truck was rated G for garbage. No swearing!”
A thump on the driver’s side of the truck made Dallas jump. He looked in the mirror and saw a small crowd of dead approaching. Dallas took his foot off of the clutch and brake, and the truck rumbled forward.
“We’re gonna need to have a chat on what happened out there,” Dallas said.
Billy just smiled and started singing under his breath. “Whirl, whirl, twist and twirl, jump around like a flying squir’l!”
9
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you!” huffed a frustrated Earl. “I came to work last night like I always do. I had a couple of drinks like I always do. I cleaned up and then came out here to take a nap in the seats like I always do. I was gonna get up in about an hour and finish cleaning like I always do, and then you shot at me. That was new.”
The survivors were all flabbergasted. Rick sighed, “So you have no idea that the city is under siege by the living dead?
Earl smiled. His left eyebrow went up and his chin dropped. “Living dead? Like zombies? So I work at a second rate theater that plays nothing but horror flicks, and you’re telling me that there are zombies running around?”
“Actually, they kinda shamble,” Chris replied, “And they moan. But most importantly, they eat people.”
“Bullshi…I mean malarkey,” Earl said looking at Sam.
“You got a TV?” Anna asked him.
“Jeff has one in the projectionist’s booth,” he answered. “Upstairs.”
“That door was locked,” Paul informed him.
“I got a key, and I wanna see some news.”
“Hang on,” said Rick. “Is there any way into the theater other than those two exit doors down there,” he pointed to the bottom of the theater, “or the front door?”
“No, that’s it,”
answered Earl.
“What’s upstairs?” Rick asked
“Balcony level, there’s no third floor, and the fourth floor is rented storage. The owner rents the space to people to store their stuff.”
The group made their way to the spiral stairs, and Earl started up with Rick in tow. He had a massive key ring with an astronomical number of keys attached to a retractable lanyard, which was in turn attached to his ancient, threadbare belt. He made it to the top of the stairs and tried the doorknob. “See, it ain’t even locked, you just gotta…” He turned the doorknob while shoving hard against the door with his shoulder. The door groaned open. “Pop it a little.”
Earl stepped inside and clicked the light on. Rick followed him in. The room was small, with only one tiny window covered with a dingy red curtain overlooking the street. In addition to the projector, there was a heavy metal desk with a chair and some shelves. B movie horror posters adorned the walls, and there was a 13 inch TV on the desk. The large drawer of the desk was open, and a stack of Penthouse magazines could be seen inside.
Earl closed the desk with his leg and sat in the chair, flicking the TV on as he sat. The emergency broadcast signal was playing, with the names of shelters running from left to right at the bottom. He turned the ancient TV dial to the next channel, and was rewarded with the same signal. “The hell?” he asked. Earl rotated the dial again, and the same banner was playing at the bottom of the screen, but this time there was a reporter yelling at the public.
“…or go to the Sacramento street rescue station, it has been overrun. The barricades have fallen and people are fleeing for their lives! If you can hear this, get out of the city by any means necessary, as quickly as possible! The army has been moving through the city running clean and sweep operations…”
The reporter put his hand to his left ear and looked down for a second. “I’ve just gotten word,” he continued, “that the entire Haight Asbury section of the city has been lost to the undead menace. The Monterey Boulevard Rescue Station has been completely destroyed!” Shambling figures could be seen advancing behind the reporter as he continued to list off parts of the city that were under siege. “Garrett, we gotta go,” someone said from off camera. The camera dipped a little and the reporter turned around. He brought the mic back to his mouth and said in a trembling voice: “We have to go now, but stay tuned. This is Garret Rhodes reporting from Down Town San Francisco for The Heart of Frisco, Channel 9 news.”
The feed switched to an anchor man seated behind a blue desk. “That, folks, was terrifying. As you can see, in the overlay, sections of our city are burning out of control.” A picture-in-picture popped on screen, displaying an aerial view of greasy black smoke plumes in various sections of the city. “The following rescue stations are to be avoided at all costs…”
Earl switched the TV off. “Ok, so I believe you, now what?”
“We’re gonna sit this out for a bit, then we’re headed for Alcatraz,” Rick answered.
Rick heard a squealing of hydraulic brakes and went to the small window. He pushed the curtain to the left, and looked out on Minna Street. He smiled and let out a happy grunt.
“What is it?” asked Earl
“I think Hell actually just froze over,” Rick replied.
Rick and Earl started down the stairs when there was a light knock on the theater’s front door.
An unfamiliar voice called through the door: “Do you have any Miracle Whip?”
Three guns pointed at the door simultaneously.
“Wait!” Rick called down the spiral stairs. “It’s Dallas!”
“Didn’t sound like Dallas,” Chris was obviously suspicious.
“It is. I saw him pull up in the garbage truck through a window upstairs.”
Rick reached the bottom of the stairs and ran to the door. “Dallas?” he called.
“Yep,” came the burly man’s reply, “Open up!”
Rick pushed the push bar and the steel door opened wide. Dallas and a bare foot man dressed in bloody hospital scrubs came in. Rick pulled the door closed and turned to face Dallas. Dallas spoke up first.
“I realize that I kinda just met you, but I’m darn glad to see you again, Bubba.”
“Likewise there, chief. Who’s your friend?” asked Rick.
“You know me, always pickin’ up strays. This is Billy.” Billy took a step forward, and when he did, Dallas made a couple of small clockwise circles near his temple with his index finger.
“Name’s Billy,” Billy said to Rick. He moved on repeating the same thing to each of the others in the theater, stopping at Chris and asking some questions.
“How’re we doin’, Hoss?” Dallas asked.
“Place is pretty secure. We’ve got a little food, and plenty to drink, and there’s only three entrances, all steel fire doors.” Rick pointed behind him. “This is my dad, Paul, and this is Earl, he works here.” Paul came up and shook hands. Earl nodded. Anna walked up to Dallas and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“I’m Anna,” she said, “Thanks for noticing me in the window; I would have been dead in another minute or two.”
“Sorry,” Rick said, “I forgot you two never got to meet.”
“My pleasure, miss,” a red-faced Dallas replied sheepishly, “least we could do.”
“Alright everybody, listen up,” Rick told the group. “We’re fairly secure here, and we have limited supplies, so we’ll hang out until tomorrow, and make another run for the docks in the early morning. Let’s make sure we’re good here, and I want to check out the upper floors and see if there’s anything we can use up there. Chris, you and Anna go and check all the doors again, and see if you can barricade them. Dad, you and Earl get some food going, and watch Sam. See if you can find something for Billy to wear. Dallas and I are going up to the fourth floor.”
“I knew I should’ve taken that left turn at Albuquerque,” moaned Billy.
Rick looked at him quizzically.
Sam giggled and Billy beamed.
“Finally!” he said and sat down cross legged next to Sam. “Which one is your favorite? Mine is Hillbilly Hare, and anything with Yosemite Sam.”
Sam was a bit scared, but she replied quickly, “I like the ones where Bugs dresses like a girl.”
“He dresses like a girl in Hillbilly hare!” Billy was ecstatic, he took off his bloody shirt and wiped his chest with it. Sam sat down next to him. When he was done he threw it to the side, “Awesome tiger, where did you get it?” Sam smiled.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, pointing to his scar.
“Tigers!” he replied a little too loud, and she smiled again. He and Sam continued to talk while Dallas and Rick walked to the door to the balcony. Anna had given Rick the keys earlier, and he unlocked the door and they stepped through. Chris came up and followed them through the door. Rick raised his eyebrows.
“Your leg, Rick.”
“Hang on, Bubba,” Dallas said, “What does he mean?”
“I got bitten getting here, but it’s nothing.”
“Where?” asked Dallas.
“Outside, when we were try—” Dallas cut him off with a head shake:
“No, I mean where on your person didja get bit?”
“It bit my boot, I guess my boot will come back and kick us,” Rick said.
“Still gotta see it, Bubba.”
Rick nodded and sat on the step and rolled his pant leg up. He undid the laces on his boot and took it off. He pulled his black sock down, and there was a small bruise over his Achilles tendon, but the skin wasn’t broken.
“Well, OK then,” Dallas said. “Let’s quit all this lollygaggin’ an’ git goin’.”
Rick laced his boot up. Chris smiled at him and
walked back into the theater, and Rick and Dallas climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. They passed the short corridor where Rick and Chris had entered the theater, and continued up another flight. A door-less entryway led them to a large room with many desks, each with a sewing machine. It looked like the room hadn’t been used in years. “Sweat shop,” Rick said. There were two other doors at the far end of the large room. One was a bathroom full of chairs and other junk, the other door was locked. A loud thump from above made both men look at the ceiling.
“Thought there were only four floors?”
Rick looked at Dallas with eyebrows raised. Dallas shook his head and motioned with his chin toward the door to the stairs. Rick nodded and they cautiously moved back to the stairway. They crept slowly up the stairs, senses wary. The stairs ended in a heavy door, not like any of the others in the upper floors of the theater. Rick knocked on the door, but heard nothing. Rick put his hand on the door handle, and looked at Dallas. Dallas gave a curt nod, and Rick threw the door open. Another short corridor with a door on either side. There was a brass 1 on the door on the left, and a 2 on the door on the right. There was movement behind the door on the left. Rick called out, “Hello?” and instantly he could hear the tell-tale moans of the infected. There sounded like a lot of them. Seconds later, pounding started on the flimsy door, and dust fell from the ceiling.
The two men beat a hasty retreat back to the door at the end of the corridor, but not before the door with the 1 on it crashed open, spilling four undead into the corridor. There were more behind them in the room. A very dead Asian man with a katana sticking out of his chest stepped over his comrades, trying to get to a savory hot meal. The creature stepped on the hand of one of the fallen, splintering the bones with an audible crack. Infected seemed to pour out of the room, all intent on the feast twenty feet away. Rick pulled the door closed, and both men hurried down the steps. Three seconds later, pounding started on the heavy door.
“At least the damned door opens in!” Dallas declared as they took the stairs two at a time.
“Did you see that guy with the sword?” Rick asked. “Must be tough to turn corners, huh?”
Dallas and Rick burst into the lobby, Dallas yelling for everyone.
Rick turned and locked the stairway door, and the lobby filled with the little band of survivors.
“We’re leaving!” shouted Rick. “Pack up, we have one minute!”
“What’s going on,” demanded Chris, “are they in?”
“The whole goddamn upstairs is full of ‘em!” Dallas told him, and immediately looked at Sam. “Sorry honey, I’m scared is all, I usually don’t swear too much.”
Billy looked annoyed, “We gotta move again? I just started settling in!”
“Move it!” Rick said. Billy harrumphed and stood up, still shirtless.
“Dallas cover the stairs, I’m gonna go up to the projection booth and look out the window to make sure we’re clear, everybody else be ready to leave!” Rick ran up the spiral stairs. He was up there maybe thirty seconds before he hurried back down.
“How are we doing?” asked Paul.
“There’s dozens,” answered Rick, ashen faced, “but that doesn’t change the fact that we need to leave, now!”
“They musta got through, Hoss, I can hear ‘em on the stairs!”
Everyone but Dallas gathered near the door, weapons ready. Sam looked scared, Billy bored. “We need to do this quick!” Rick started. “Dallas, you take Billy and Earl, I’ll drive with the people that came with me. Everybody sit where you were sitting before if you can. Chris, you and I will lead. Dad, you and Anna cover Sam, get her in the Hummer fast. Dallas, you block with the truck, head toward the bay!”
“Wait!” Earl said quickly. He ran behind the counter and opened a tall white cabinet. He pulled out two baseball bats, one aluminum, and one wood. He tossed the wooden one to Billy, who promptly used it to smash the glass on an oblong box attached to the wall next to him. He reached in and withdrew a red fire axe.
He smiled a wicked half smile, “Only you can prevent forest fires…”
He one-hand tossed the wooden bat to Chris, who caught it effortlessly, gripped it in the middle and strode to the front door. He looked damn tough for a skinny nerd, with the Louisville Slugger in one hand and the Taurus in the other.