The beast struck again, the only thing holding it back now was the thin strips of metal that had been part of the door’s support. BT had seemingly forgotten about the firearm in his hands.
“Shoot it!” Deneaux screamed again.
Her shrill voice seemed to awaken something in BT. He raised his rifle and pulled the trigger and the behemoth on the other side barely moved as its head rocked back an inch or two. White bone shone through on its forehead for a moment before it was covered in a brackish black goop.
“Get in the car, BT!” Gary screamed, not even caring that his voice was at least three octaves higher than it normally should be.
“It’ll kill us,” BT said, not willing to look back at Gary. The beast was pulling the metal strips apart with a dexterity that the zombies had not shown previously.
The car settled down appreciably as BT got in quickly closing his door to the nightmare beyond the too thin glass windshield.
“Please, God, I’ve always tried to live my life as best I could,” Gary said as he again turned the key in the ignition. For a moment there wasn’t anything, not even the dead clicking, merely dead silence—that and the grunts and groans of the beast trying to get at them…and then the engine roared to life. Although to say that a four- cylinder Ford Pinto engine was roaring to life would be like saying that Paris Hilton was a fantastic actress (although if you count her night vision adventures she was alright).
The giant zombie was in the garage, it brought its honey-glazed-ham-sized fists down on the hood of the small car. Giant imprints were left behind as it raised its hands up to do more damage. Gary was afraid the monster would drive the hood into the fan blades, then their escape would be over before it ever even started. Gary threw the transmission into drive, and for one long, heart-stopping second, the engine sputtered and threatened to die before the car lurched forward and was immediately stopped as it ran into the zombie’s tree trunk-like legs.
“Go, Gary, go!” BT yelled.
“Sounds like Dr. Seuss,” Gary said. “Through the zombie, then we’re free. Go, Gary, go.” Gary pressed gently down on the gas pedal, trying to find a balance between more engine thrust and the car’s ability to take the influx of gas without flooding and stalling.
A deep moan came out of the zombie’s mouth. Gary had initially thought the vibrations he felt in his chest were coming from the car until he saw the zombie’s throat warbling.
“Gary?” BT pleaded.
“I’ve got the gas halfway down, we’re not moving!” Gary replied excitedly. Smoke was billowing all around the garage from the effort.
“Maybe you should put it all the way to the floor,” Mrs. Deneaux said, leaning forward.
“I think I agree with her on this one,” BT said, leaning as far back as he could—which wasn’t far considering the confines of the small car.
A stiff wind had kicked up, and the roadway was surprisingly clear. Gary was able to notice that more zombies of the traditional variety began to make their way over towards them.
“Now or never bud,” BT said noticing the same thing.
The engine popped and sputtered as Gary pressed his foot into the nearly rusted out floor board. The giant zombie had bent down and was now trying to lift the front end of the car off the ground. It appeared to be having some success.
BT quickly, and against his better judgment, rolled down his window and fired twice; one bullet tearing through the right side of the zombie’s jowl. Gnashing teeth shown through like a doctor’s examination room diorama. The second shot caught it in the forehead an inch or two from the previous wound. The zombie did not fall; but at least it dropped the car and staggered back.
The zombie was still moving backwards when the engine finally had enough thrust to get the transmission moving. The car shot out like a turtle wading through molasses. Gary did his best to avoid the behemoth, but with limited room and the size of the beast, it was easier said than done. The car was rocked to its rivets as it struck the zombie.
BT’s head almost made contact with the dashboard. The only thing preventing it was that he was wedged in tighter than a tick on a moose’s ass. Gary took a hard left away from the majority of the zombies, but it was still no easy feat avoiding them. He knew the Pinto could not sustain any more damage than it already had; a factory-new Pinto was suspect, and this had seen its best days decades earlier. Gary wouldn’t swear to it, but he thought he heard a maniacal laughter emanating from Mary’s house as they passed on by.
“Roll up your window,” Gary asked BT as he shivered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mike Journal Entry 2
The sound of a small engine car racing past the house awoke me from my daze, that and the crazy, long- haired bastard that was looking down at me.
“Are you real?” he asked.
“Where the fuck am I?” I asked as I was peering around the room that was covered from floor to ceiling and the ceiling itself in tin foil.
“Hey...hey...hey!” he started. “I’m asking the hyperboles!”
So I know my grasp of the English language is suspect at best, but even I knew that was an incorrect sentence.
“Ask away,” I said weakly. I felt marginally better than I had when I fell into the house, but how much better was still in question. If crazy-eyed, long-haired, bearded man attacked right now with more than a plastic spoon I would be done for.
“I’m asking the questions here,” he said, trying to establish his authority.
“You said you were asking the hyperboles?”
“Why the fuck would I say that? That makes absolutely no sense,” he said, scratching his head. “Why you here? Did they send you?”
“Can I get a drink first?” I asked, my throat felt like it was on fire, which I guess wasn’t too far removed from the truth.
“I dance on my bed.”
How do these people find me? It’s like I have a heavy dose of crazy attractant sprayed all over me. “That’s nice,” was all I could think to say in return.
“Scotch okay? I don’t drink water since the government started putting fluoride in it. It makes you dumb,” he said, tapping his finger against his head.
“So how much water did you drink before you realized that?” I asked him.
Bearded Man was already heading into the kitchen; I think he was muttering something about Kelly Clarkson. I could hear the rattle of glasses and then a few of them smashing.
“You alright?” I asked as I tried to sit up.
“Thought I saw bugs,” came his reply.
“What’s with the tin foil?”
“What tin foil?” he said as he came back into the room holding two large glasses filled to the top with an amber colored liquid I could only hope was scotch and not Pine-Sol.
“Need some help?” he asked as he put the glasses down and extended his hand.
I was grateful for the help, but was afraid to touch him lest my burned flesh slough off in his grip.
“Come on, man, I haven’t bitten anyone since that one time in the K-Mart parking lot, and I thought he was an alligator,” he said, seeing my hesitation.
“I’m kind of burned bad, and I’m not sure if my skin will stay on.”
“You’re funny, man! You’re dirty as hell, I’ll give you that, but you ain’t burned. I mean I thought you were when you came in, but the more I looked at you the more convinced I was you were just a dirty bastard.”
I looked down at my hands. There seemed to be some residual burn marks, but it was nothing like what I had
