The Turning: A Tale of the Living Dead (12 page)

“There’s an office over there,”
Jenny said, pointing to a squat white building by the docks.  “There has to be
keys in there for some of the boats.  We should go in there, grab them all, and
find out where they go.”
Jeff coughed and spat out a wad of phlegm.  He nodded, unable to speak, and
they trotted towards the Marina, past a series of parked cars and towards the
docks. 

They reached the building and
tried the door.  It was locked.  Jenny jiggled it for a moment before stepping
back and smashing the handle with her tire iron.  Two more blows and the handle
broke and the door creaked open.  Jenny grinned as a rotten hand grabbed her by
her hair and pulled her in.  She screamed and swung the tire iron furiously,
breaking its arms and some fingers, but still it held her fast.  It groaned and
its teeth clacked in the darkness of the office as Jeff tried to get around her
and inside to help, shoving Jenny from behind, forcing her and the zombie into
the office. 

They plunged into darkness.  There
was the sound of Jenny’s tire iron falling and clanging on the cold tile floor,
followed by grunting and moaning and the sounds of struggle.  Jeff couldn’t see
anything; it was pitch black in there.  He stood and slapped his hand against
the wall behind him, his fingers scratching the wood paneling, trying to find a
light switch.  When he did, he flicked it on.

Jenny was on her back, her arm in
the hands of a male zombie dressed in a sailor’s outfit, its head bent over,
teeth closing in on her throat.

“No!” Jeff screamed.  He swung the
crowbar and clipped the top of the creature’s forehead, cracking the skull and
knocking it backwards, its teeth leaving behind a slimy trail of thick saliva
and black blood as it shot backwards from the blow, its head like a golf ball,
pinging into a desk behind it.  The creature bounced off and fell to the left,
its head lolling on its neck as it sat back up and stared at Jeff.

Jeff swung again, burying the
crowbar in the top of its head, the skull cracking and brains spilling out over
the edges.  The zombie slumped forward as he pulled the crowbar out, an empty
husk.

Jenny wiped her wet forearm on her
pants leg.  She scooted away from the zombie as Jeff stepped over it and used
the crowbar to break into the desk.  He rifled through the drawers, finding
several sets of keys, all marked with corresponding dock numbers.  Jenny got to
her feet and leaned against the desk, suddenly very pale and tired, dark circles
appearing almost instantly under her eyes.  She stumbled to the door and looked
outside to check the progress of the walking dead. 

Fifty yards away to the right, a
small girl with pigtails lurched into view.  It was missing its right arm and
its left leg had a huge chunk torn from the thigh.  It staggered and fell, got
back up, groaned, and headed for the office.  Jenny turned to Jeff.

“Better hurry.  There’s one
coming.”

Jeff shoved the keys into his
pockets and looked around for anything useful, not finding much.  It was a
typical office, with a couple of filing cabinets, the desk, and a chair.   He
checked the filing cabinets, pulling the drawers open and pushing the papers
inside them around.  Nothing there. 

“Hurry,” Jenny said.

He kept looking, finishing with
one and moving to the other.  This one was more of the same, until he came to
the middle drawer, where he hit paydirt.  Inside was a pistol, a .45, with a
box of shells.  A grin hard and wide spread across his face.  He pulled the gun
out and held it up for Jenny to see.  She returned his smile and looked back
outside.

“We need to go,” she said.

He grabbed the box of ammo,
stuffed the gun down the front of his pants, and they exited the building. 

Up ahead was the entrance to the
docks.  There was a steel mesh door, locked, that prevented them from going any
further.  The boats and their hopeful freedom were only a few feet away but
they were blocked off.  Jeff took the crowbar, ready to try and pry the door
off, when Jenny’s hand fell on his arm.

“Look for the key,” she said.

He’d stuffed dozens into his
pocket.  He fished them out, handing a bunch to her, and they sorted through
them, looking at the labels to find one that would open the door.

Behind them, the zombie girl shuffled
closer.  The girl had reached the office and was shambling towards them, her
mouth open and her teeth clacked together.

Jenny stared at the zombie girl,
more details in her appearance coming clearer.  It wore a green Argyle sweater
matted with dried blood and tufts of hair above a black skirt that was torn in
two.  The wind blew and the skirt flapped open and revealed its groin, torn
open and caked with dried blood.  The blood ran in streaks down its legs, the
zombie an obvious victim of rape.   Tears streamed down Jenny’s face when she
laid eyes on the zombie’s violation, teeming with ants and flies, all nibbling
on the dead flesh.  

A breeze blew and the skirt fell
back in place, breaking the spell.

“It’s not her fault,” Jenny said.

“Got it!” Jeff said.  He held a
silver key up and wiggled it in the air.  “We’re going to be okay.”
Behind them, coming over the small hill, the first of the trailing dead
appeared, a mass of walking and crawling and stumbling creatures from the pits
of hell itself.  There was over a hundred of them, gathered from the Food Bank
and the surrounding areas, all headed towards Jeff and Jenny.

Jenny looked back at the girl,
closer now, so close, details of its face coming into sharper focus.  Half its
teeth were gone or broken, jagged from repeated blows.  Its left eye was
swollen shut and its nose was swollen, purple and bloated.  It hissed between
its ragged lips and stepped onto the walkway and staggered towards them.

Jeff pulled the gun out.  Jenny
raised her hand and pushed it back down.

“I got this,” she said.

She walked forward, tire iron in
hand, until she was only a few feet from the zombie.  It reached out its one
arm and clawed the air in front of it, a long stream of slobber slipping from
the corner of its mouth and oozing onto its sweater.

Jenny raised the tire iron.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She swung, caving in the side of
the zombie girl’s skull just above the ear and shattering it.  Brains exploded
from its ears, such was the crushing force of the blow, and the tire iron
cleaved the head in half from the side.  Jenny pulled the weapon out and
watched as the zombie girl’s body fell into the water on the left and floated
for a moment before sinking.  In seconds, all that could be seen were the heels
of the girl, sticking up out of the water.

Up ahead, the zombies grew closer.

“Come on,” Jeff said.  He opened
the door and they slipped through, locking it behind them as they ran down to
the docks.

“Here!” Jenny said.  She pointed
to a medium-sized boat with its sails down, thirty-two feet long, white, with a
covered captain’s chair and closed doors leading down into the boat. 

Jeff checked the keys, found the
correct one, and they jumped onto the boat.  He ran over, stuck the key in, and
it started right up, no problems, no sputtering engine, no hesitation.  He
smiled, happy they were getting a break, finally.

“Take off those ropes,” he called
back to Jenny.  She found the knot where it was tied to the dock but had
trouble getting it undone.

Over the rise, the zombies came
down the hill, walking towards the water, thirty yards away, their moans and
clicking teeth echoing off the surrounding boats, magnifying the noise.

“I can’t get it,” Jenny said.

Jeff ran over and studied the
knot.  He was at a loss.  He had no idea what he was doing and momentary panic
set in as he looked over and saw the dead, going around the ramps and avoiding
the locked door, had reached the water and plunged in, wading towards them.

He grabbed the rope and fiddled
with it, finding no purchase.

“Goddamnit!” he screamed.  He
looked around, eyes searching the cabin.  “Check the cabinets,” he said as he
went back to work on the knot. 

Jenny scoured the area, throwing
open doors and scattering various instruments across the floor of the cruiser
as Jeff frantically scrabbled at the knot, scraping his fingertips in a
desperate attempt to free the boat.

The dead were in the water. 
Dozens of them splashing and walking towards the boat, the easy currents
pushing their empty bodies here and there, but they continued forward,
undaunted, their arms outstretched and clutching at the open air, closing in.

Jenny screamed with triumph and
spun around, machete in hand.  She pushed Jeff to the side and swung it, the
blade whistling in the air.  She chopped the rope and the boat drifted free.

“Yes!” she yelled.

Jeff slapped her ass and ran for
the controls.  He sat down in the seat and studied the dash before him.  Jenny,
watched, hovering over his right shoulder.

Behind them, the dead sloshed through
the water, some disappearing under and others continuing, drawing closer, the
water up to the middle of their chests.  The closest were only ten feet away. 
Some of the others, walking along the docks, ran into the locked door and
pressed against it, the ones in front crunched up against the steel mesh as the
dead behind them kept pushing forward.

Jeff studied the instruments. 
“It’s like driving a car,” he told himself.  He found the throttle, worked the
steering wheel to get used to it, checked everything else out, and nodded to
Jenny.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The zombies had reached the
boat.   They clawed at the hull, smacking it with their open palms and closed
fists, looking for a handhold.

Jeff put the boat in reverse,
hitting the gas a little too hard, and smacked it against the side of the
dock.  Two zombies were caught in the action, one with its head smashed open
between the boat and the dock, cracking like a rotten egg.  Its brains oozed
from its ears and eyes like runny yolk.  The other zombie was slammed on its
chest and pinned between the boat and the dock, crushing the cavity.  The
zombie bounced between the boat and the dock, black, thick blood bursting from
between its lips.

The blades of the engine sliced a
female zombie in half and it bobbed in the water a moment, its legs rising up
as its torso flopped over and turned upside down in the water.  Other zombies
were knocked around like ping pong balls as Jeff got a handle on what he was
doing and pulled the boat from the docks and drove it towards the entrance to
the Marina.  The dead swarmed around the boat, beating its sides, but the sides
of the boat were slick with water and they could get no real grip.

Jeff, being cautious, pulled the
boat ahead slowly, easing the throttle forward.  He could feel them, next to
and under the boat, scratching and clawing, their blows echoing hollow deep
inside the boat.  He continued, undeterred, inching onward, and cleaving a path
through the living dead.

The docks ran west and then opened
to the left.  He slowed down and turned the wheel, but it was too sharp and he
was going too fast and the boat rocked and tipped and for a frightening moment,
he thought it was going to flip over.  But he corrected the turn and laughed,
looking back to share the moment with Jenny.

She was gone.

Jeff’s heart pounded in his
chest. 

“Jenny!” he screamed.  He looked
over both sides of the boat, afraid he’d see her in the water, surrounded by
the zombies.

“Goddammit,” she said, her voice
more a grunt than a shout.  Jeff spun and spotted her, lying in the corner,
looking up at him and shaking her head.

“I lost my balance,” she said. 

Jeff laughed and turned back to
the controls. 

“Stay low,” he said as he opened
it up a bit, zipping the boat down the docks and out towards the entrance. 
They left the zombies behind, drifting in their wake, as Jeff made the exit,
turned to his left, and followed the water until they were in their way out
towards the bay.

On their right, the city of
Oakland burned.  Buildings were gutted, their windows shattered and their sides
blackened with smoke and blood.  The fire that started on the east side had
swept west, the flames licking the sky like a starving dog slurps a bone,
ravaging and destroying everything in its wake.  Everywhere Jeff and Jenny
looked, the streets were filled with the living dead, walking and stumbling and
crawling, moaning and groaning, moving away from the fires and drowned in black
smoke.  They weaved through stalled and wrecked cars and trucks.  The streets
were thick with the dead and what they’d left in their wake.  In Chinatown,
there was a semi truck, its tail end buried in a restaurant, stuck there like a
mouse in a glue trap.  Smoke drifted, lazy and thin, from the front end of the
truck.  The sidewalks were littered with shattered glass and detritus, dotted
with occasional severed limbs left behind.  Dried blood washed the streets and
splashed the sides of buildings, making the city an abattoir, a house of
horrors.   

Jeff turned the boat away from the
shoreline of Oakland and out towards the open waters of the bay.  He stared at
Jenny, their eyes locking.  He’d never seen her so tired or hopeless.  They
were free of their pursuers but all they’d seen in the wake of their flight was
nothing but death and bleakness. 

A sudden series of explosions
jarred them from their shared moment.  They spun and looked out at the skyline
of San Francisco, off to their left, as a fighter jet swooped over the city,
dropping bombs.  Building exploded in great sprays of glass and concrete and
steel, erupting like fireworks.  The jet pulled up and disappeared into the
clouds, gone as quickly as it came.  Building after building fell from the
onslaught, tumbling into cauldrons of dust and debris.  It was a fantastic sight,
eerie and devastating all at once.