6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (20 page)

Hana and I get hungry, so we try the stove.
It doesn’t work. She lifts the lid of the stove. I can see that the
stove regulates heat with a simple circuit on the control panel — a
fried control panel. I take the lead on this one. I’d built some
cool electronic kits when I was younger. I pull out the wires from
the circuit and touch them together lightly. Sparks fly, fed by the
generator power. Hana disconnects the plug, and I connect the wires
directly to the burner.

“The electric stove just uses the current and
the coil to generate heat,” I say, showing off. Hana plugs the
stove back in. One burner turns bright red. We high-five.

Hana cooks little canned hotdogs and soup
that we found in the cabinet. So awesome. For dessert I have a pack
of donuts and some more M&Ms. I feel less jittery and weird.
Again, when my head hits the couch pillow, I pass out hard.

When I wake, it’s morning. The rain didn’t
come in the night. The storm is still building. There are huge
thunderclouds on the horizon. They look like they’re standing
still, waiting for permission to come crashing toward us. I can see
lightning strikes in the clouds, a lot of them. It will be a bad
storm.

Hana cooks hash browns she found in the
freezer. They weren’t frozen anymore but not rotten yet. She finds
a box of fake eggs in the cabinet, too. The only thing we are
missing is orange juice and bacon.

“Can we stay here until a rescue team comes?”
I ask her. It’s such a nice hideout. And with the storm coming I
don’t want to be anywhere else.

Hana drinks some tea she’d found in the
cupboard and stares out the window. “Yeah, we could.” She’s deep in
thought. “You know, I haven’t seen anything in the air.” She sips
her tea. “That’s kinda weird.”

“Why aren’t there any planes in the sky?”

“Not sure, but if I was in charge, I’d have
eyes in the sky. Even if they were scared of the virus, a sealed
jet at twenty thousand feet wouldn’t catch it, but could still take
survey pics. Don’t they want to know what’s happening on the
ground?” We sit in silence for a long time.

“I think we might want to stay here.” She
sips her tea. “Maybe for a while.”

“What about getting to our families?” I
ask.

Hana shrugs. “There’s a possibility they have
evacuated the entire area. If the government couldn’t stop the
virus on New York Island, then they may have forced the surrounding
region to evacuate. They may not be there.”

“What do you mean
if
they didn’t stop
the virus?” I ask, feeling a tingle up my spine. I want my cell to
work badly. I look at the TV and think of ways to get it working. I
start to get mad. I don’t even know if my Ma survived. Did she get
out? Is she dead, or worried sick about me? I have so many
questions. The easy going feeling I slept with is gone.

“Yeah, let’s stay for a while.” Hana decides.
“It will be safer with this storm coming. Maybe we can find a radio
that works.”

I smile at her. “I can make a radio. I made
one with my dad a few years back. It was so cool. I made the radio
as part of a merit badge. I don’t know if there is everything here
to make one like we did, but I think I can rig the one downstairs
to work. We’ll just have to rip out the circuit board that’s
fried.”

“Boy Scout, huh?” Hana says. “You get to
Eagle?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m Life. But I
still know things.” I smile and strut like a chicken.

“Let’s do it.”

Downstairs on the worktable next to the
patched boat is an old, beat up, paint-splashed radio. I open the
plastic case. I pull the wires from the circuit board and connect
them directly to the diode and the power supply — which will work
thanks to the generator.

With Hana’s help, I spend the next two hours
remembering how the radio fit together. Finally, static flows
through the speakers.

Before we have a chance to find a signal the
gate at the end of the walkway rattles loudly. It’s being kicked or
something. Hana runs to the window. I’m right behind her. There are
four people trying to rip down the gate.

Hana pulls out her pistol and watches
them.

I
’ve been running
longer than I thought possible for my fat ass. My cells burn at
every level. I can’t hear anything around me but the thumping of
blood in my ears. I stop and gasp for breath. My hands find my
knees and I throw up again. I’ve never thrown up as much as I have
in these past three days. I begin to think about how nice it would
be to just ditch these dudes and go home. I would stock up on food
and water and maybe find some more weed. I’d get as much booze as I
could find.

Markus and Ian come back for me.

Ian reaches for me. I wave him away. “I can’t
run anymore.” I gasp to catch my breath. “Just, can’t do it,
dude.”

Markus looks around, wheezing like a steam
engine. “And on the seventh day, God rested.”

We don’t get to rest. Some bitch starts
yelling from the roof of a six story building. She’s got a kid
hanging onto her leg.

“Help!” she screams. “Hey, help us!”

Ian and Markus run to the building. Ian
flings the door open like an idiot. Bunch of do-gooders gonna get
killed trying to rescue some dumbass chick and her snot-nosed
kid.

Smoke pours from the front door. The building is an
inferno and Ian isn
’
t a fool. He runs back
to the middle of the street and yells,
“
Use the fire escape!
”

She screams so loudly I expect the windows to
shatter.
“
I can
’
t!
”

Three walkers inhabit the fourth floor fire escape
platform. They
’
re dumbfounded for sure.
They don
’
t know how to climb ladders, but
they pace back and forth like caged, hungry tigers. Well, fuck, if
she can
’
t fight off a few of those ugly
things she
’
s gonna get us killed for sure.
“
Leave them!
”
I
yell.
“
She
’
s a
goner!
”

No one hears me. I watch Ian slip off his huge
backpack and dash down the alley. Hero Ian pushes a dumpster under
the fire escape. He jumps on the dumpster like some kind of cat.
After pulling the ladder down he climbs up to the first platform.
Monkey-boy do-gooder. Markus watches and prays. Maybe God would
turn that walker into some weed so we could smoke it. Now
that
would be a miracle, more like a favor, for once. I look
up to the dark clouds.
“
How
‘
bout it, God?
”

No response.

The glass door across the street falls from its
hinges and smashes on the stairs. Walkers overflow down the steps
like a gaggle of writhing snakes coming out of their den. I take a
quick count. Six walkers, eight, no, ten. I run to
Markus
’
side as more appear out of the
traffic jam, hatching from the silent vehicles and wobbling like
baby birds.

“Hey, yo, can I borrow your bat?
”
I ask, feeling quite vulnerable. Markus looks and
sees the walkers lumber toward us.

“You need your own weapon, son,
”
Markus says. He points to the alley where the
dumpster was.
“
I saw a two-by-four over
there. Make expedient use of that.
”

I find the wood and stand on the sidewalk like
I
’
m in the batter
’
s box.

More and more stupid walkers lumber toward us.
There
’
s a crowd of them building up.
“
Come on, Ian!
”
I
yell.
“
This shit is gonna go down any
second!
”
I count twenty-one ugly bastards
now. I wait at Markus
’
side.
We
’
ve got minutes before we
’
re surrounded. Thirty now. More stumble from
buildings, alleys, and side streets. I fucking stop counting.
“
Dude, come on!!
”

Ian yells from the fourth floor fire escape platform.
“
Heads up!
”
He
tosses the walker off the platform. The walker hits the ground and
kind of explodes like a water balloon. Blue shit goes everywhere.
“
Ahhh!
”
I cry.
Some crap gets in my mouth! Markus is spared, conveniently
sheltered by me.
“
You
’
re welcome, dude,
”
I snip.
“
Your Bible seems to be workin
’
for you at least.
”

There are two more and they don
’
t want to be tossed off the fire escape. Ian
struggles and fights them off. He kicks and punches. Finally,
another goes over the rails. Markus pulls me out of the way.

“Our escape is closing, Ian!
”
he yells.

We back into the alley, which is really fucking
stupid because there
’
s no way out. Another
dumpster and a twenty-foot-tall fence box us in.

The last walker goes over the side. It crashes to the
ground, forcing us further into the alley. The crowd stumbling
toward us closes off the entrance.
“
Shit,
man. Where do we go?
”

Markus and I climb onto the dumpster by the
fence.

I look up at Ian. Seeing their way out, the woman and
the boy fly down two flights of stairs. Fire erupts from the window
facing the fifth floor stairwell. The woman and her boy
can
’
t climb down to Ian. The window behind
them shatters and black smoke engulfs the two.

“Hurry! Toss the boy to me!
”
Ian yells. They
’
re only one platform
up.

“No!
”
she screams, choking
on the smoke.

“Do it or die!
”

The woman holds the boy over the metal railing and
lowers him to Ian
’
s arms. Then she climbs
over the railing and drops into him. She lands on him hard,
knocking the wind out of him.

The walkers get closer to us, but they hesitate for
some reason. Maybe it
’
s the fire inside
the ground floor windows. They don
’
t like
fire.

Ian, the boy, and Rice scamper down the fire escape
to the bottom like Mario, Luigi, and Toad. Ian lands on the
dumpster, takes the kid, and sets him on solid ground. He turns, as
the lady, who
’
s a bit on the plump side,
jumps into his arms. The walkers must smell them. They
’
re so close they lunge.

Ian, the kid, and the woman evade the fumbling undead
and run to us.
“
We go over the
fence.
”

I had a feeling that was the way we were going, but I
was hoping for an alternative.

Ian and Markus help the kid and the woman over the
fence. The kid makes it fine, but the woman bombs the pavement. She
screams bloody fuckin
’
murder.

The walker horde reaches us. Ian and Markus start
batting heads like they
’
re playing croquet
or some shit. I leap up the fence like a god-damned teenager
runnin
’
from the coppers. At the top of
the fence I turn to go down the opposite side when I catch a
glimpse of the alleyway we just left. Hundreds of walkers jam-pack
the space between brick buildings. My heart stops
tickin
’
just for a moment.

I see a tall, thin walker moving faster than the
others. It has a radar fix on us. I drop to the pavement. Ian and
Markus join us on the safe side of the fence and we run to the main
road. I get one last look down the alley. I expect to see the
bastards leap-froggin
’
over that fence but
they don
’
t. Through the slats I can see
that they don
’
t really know what to do
with the dumpster. They aren
’
t climbing on
top of it, just pancaking themselves into the side. Dumb fucks.
I
’
m about to turn and run when I see that
tall, thin guy. He climbs onto the fence and stares at me through a
gap in the slats. He looks with his eyes, even though they
don
’
t exist anymore. But those worms see
me. I know it. He cries out and awkwardly climbs the fence. The
others follow him. Monkey see, monkey do.

I run and catch up to Ian and the others. Walkers
pepper the street, but they haven
’
t
condensed yet. So we weave around them easily enough.