Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One) (31 page)

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes anew and she slapped him one good on his right cheek. The hot zing from her swat made Joe’s skin sting. He may have deserved it, he may have not. Either way, Billie needed to wait till she grieved over Des.

All of them did.

The undead formed a semicircle and drew in closer, the circle getting smaller and smaller until Joe and Billie were on its inside, August on the other, running for the helicopter.

Dead hands pawed at them. One grabbed Joe by the shoulder. He shoved it off, delivered a swift hook to the side of the zombie’s head, then kicked at another before firing off a clean shot to the face of one straight ahead of him. The dead man dropped and blood pooled around Joe’s boots.

Billie yelped as a pair of hands tugged her back and to the side. A couple zombies had grabbed her in a bear hug, her arms pinned to her body, forbidding her from raising the nail gun and taking them out.

Joe spun on his heels and blasted one of the zombies that held her. He cocked the hammer and took out the other. Arms free, Billie ran ahead and got some distance before turning and firing off nail after nail in quick succession. Joe had to dive to the side to get out of the way of the spray of spikes.

She’s running off pure adrenaline now. All emotion. Unwise.
He got to his feet and headed for the chopper. “Billie, come on!”

She turned, clocked a zombie in the face with the butt of the nail gun, then ran toward the black helicopter.

Joe stopped, fired off a few more shots, then followed her, bringing up the rear.

The rooftop door blew open and that giant zombie filled the doorframe. It eyed the scene with a dead, white-eyed stare, its blood-caked lips grimacing.

It ran after them.

Joe’s heart went into a beating frenzy. He’d never seen one of these zombies run before. And this thing wasn’t just running. It was moving at an all-out sprint. The creature bowled through his comrades as if they weren’t even there. Behind the enormous dead man, a plethora of the undead poured out of the rooftop door, quickly coating the roof in a throng of moving, deceased flesh.

Joe turned toward the helicopter and gave it all he had, running with all-out abandon.

The propellers fired up; slowly at first, but soon they were moving at a blur. August leaned from the pilot seat, waving Billie in through the side door. He was saying something but Joe couldn’t make out what above the roar of the propeller blades.

Billie turned as she ran, arm outstretched, nail gun firing in all directions, she evidently not caring what or who she hit. Joe wondered if she even remembered he was there.

He kept to the side as much as he could to avoid inadvertently getting blasted by one of the nails.

The giant zombie was right behind him, its panting groans crawling up his spine and sending goosebumps across his flesh.

Don’t look back. Don’t!
But if walking the streets alone in search of eradicating the undead had taught him anything, looking over your own shoulder was what was needed to survive.

Joe glanced back. Large gray hands reached for him and grabbed him by the face. His feet left the ground and he was dragged over to the building’s ledge.

“Joe.” The voice was somewhere behind the dark of the dead man’s palm, somewhere above the din of spinning helicopter blades, somewhere underneath the constant moans and growls of dead men and women.

August?
The voice was faint, almost a whisper.

It was female.

Billie?

He raised the X-09 and fired the two shots it could handle, hoping he’d hit his target in the head. Two low grunts, one for each bullet fired. The hand remained on his face.

Out of necessity, Joe let go of the dead man’s wrist and let his head support his body weight. He felt around for the holster and slid the X-09 into it. Then he reached up and clawed at the dead man’s fingers, hoping to release them just enough to see what was going on. He managed to pry them loose enough so that his left eye was uncovered.

An empty street lay thirty-some stories beneath his boots.

Pain from the iron claw-like grip around his head spiked through his temples.

Blood oozed from the undead giant’s lips. From the little Joe could see, it appeared the X-09 had slugged the creature twice in the chest. Black blood trickled out of the wounds, but it wasn’t enough to stop it.

He couldn’t see the helicopter.

Go ahead. Drop me. They’re gone. I’m ready to go, too. Time to see April.

“Joseph.” There was that voice again. “Joe.” It sounded pleading, begging him not to give up. “I need you.”

Billie?

No. Not Billie. She wouldn’t call him “Joseph.”

April?

I’m coming, sweetheart. He just needs to let go and soon I’ll be there.

Then another voice, this One strong and sure: “If you let yourself die, you will not see her. Not without Me.”

Who? Who’s “Me”?

The undead giant shook his arm and Joe’s body wagged like a rag doll’s.

The voice again: “I have called you by name. You now have a choice: listen or perish. Make your decision.”

Unsure what to do or if his mind was playing tricks on him, Joe thought about April. She had changed everything. She was why he was here now. If she hadn’t died, he would never have taken it upon himself to make war with the undead. He would never have met Billie or Des or August. He wouldn’t be here now, hanging by a thread over a rooftop’s ledge.

Wouldn’t be questioning his sanity at hearing a voice that was not his own.

Have I slipped? Have I finally gone
—
Just one more chance. Please.

The giant tossed him into the air. Joe went up, tipped forward, and began a swan dive for the street below. Suddenly, a gust of wind stronger than anything he’d ever felt shoved him forward and sent him back onto the rooftop. His forearms hit the ground and he skidded a few feet before finally coming to a stop.

Impossi
—

The giant zombie turned and stomped toward him. The crowd of the other zombies came in from the other side.

Behind the giant zombie, the black helicopter rose close to the roof, Billie standing in the side door, waving at him to get in.

Thank you.
It was more feeling than thought, but Joe got to his feet, pulled out the X-09 and sent a bullet home between the giant’s eyes. The creature stopped its stride, eyes wide, then dropped to its knees as black blood and brain matter gushed from its head.

Joe ran toward the helicopter. Almost at the ledge, about to negotiate how he was going to step off the edge and into the chopper, a multitude of hands pulled at him from behind.

His foot slipped on the helicopter’s ski and he lost his balance. Gravity swept in and he fell. A rush of pain spiked through his underarms and it took him a second to realize he had managed to catch himself on the ski instead of plummeting to the street below.

Four zombies jumped off the roof. Two grabbed onto each of his legs. The third grabbed onto the ski, the fourth missed completely and plunged to the ground. The helicopter tipped to the side.

She aimed at the one hanging onto the ski with one hand. A nail to its throat was enough to force it to let go and drop the thirty-something stories to the street.

The zombies tugged at Joe’s legs. He slipped, fell, then caught the ski with his left hand. His
weak
hand. The other still clutched the X-09. There was no way he was going to drop the gun.

Even at the expense of his own life.

Without it . . . . The gun symbolized everything. It was who he was without April.

Gripping the bar as tight as he could, he slowly aimed the X-09 at the head of the zombie clawing at his right leg. He shot; the creature’s face exploded. Its body fell.

Pa-toompf!

A nail appeared dead center of the zombie’s forehead. Its mouth dropped open. Joe kicked it in the face and the thing tumbled to the ground.

The weight of the undead suddenly gone, Joe thought he could pull himself up. The moment he tried, his sweaty fingers slipped on the metal of the ski.

He fell.

35

Grief

A pair of small hands locked around his wrist and clung on with everything they had. Joe looked up. Billie was squatting at the edge of the side door of the helicopter, a smile on her face, her glasses slipping down her nose.

Joe tried pulling himself up with his left hand, but couldn’t lest he risk pulling too hard and yank Billie out of the chopper. Still holding the X-09 in his right hand, he carefully pulled that arm up and tossed the weapon into the helicopter. Hand now empty, he latched onto the helicopter’s ski and simultaneously pulled himself up with that one while using the hand Billie held for support. Once he was no longer dangling from the ski, he searched for a better place to put his hands.

Billie pulled up on his arm. Her grip was slipping and his body’s position was awkward. Her fingers suddenly went from being around his wrist to clasping onto the cuffs of his sleeves till all that she held was leather between thumbs and forefingers.

The weight was too much and her hands snapped back when she released the fabric and tumbled back onto her behind inside the helicopter.

Gravity swept in and Joe dropped. His left hand caught the edge of the ski, but his arm and shoulder took most of the blow and the muscles strained from the sudden jerk against them.

Grunting, he leaned into the wind, trying to straighten himself, and got hold of the ski with both hands. The helicopter slowed a little, but it was still moving up and forward at a good clip.

The weight was too much and Joe’s arms straightened.

Taking heavy, deep breaths, he tried to calm himself. To slow down. He closed his eyes and purposefully ignored that his body was slowly being pushed by the wind toward the back of the helicopter again.

Growling, he held the ski tight and tried pulling himself up again.

For April,
he thought.

“Puuuulllll . . .” His voice gurgled at the end and his head dipped. The city streets were a maze of rooftops and ruler-straight lines far below.

Something grabbed the back of his coat and began pulling him up and forward.

Up. Go. Pull!

Grunting, he slowly worked his hands up off the ski and onto the side edge of the helicopter. He then grabbed hold of something plush and leathery. A seat. Then something bony. A leg? Billie!

The tug against the back of his coat persisted until finally he was inside the chopper, lying on his stomach, up to his knees, feet hanging out.

He lay there panting, the icy wind whipping against his legs sending sweet shivers up his body, cooling down his sweat-soaked skin.

Throat dry, he forced himself to swallow, then used the rest of his strength to finish the job and get himself fully into the helicopter.

* * * *

Through tear-covered eyes, Billie watched the roof of the Richardson building drift away, the moving bodies of the undead milling about its top seeming less and less dangerous as the helicopter ascended.