I felt much better as I climbed over the railing and onto the relative safety of the structure. I entered the house quickly and quietly not sure what to expect. The house was as quiet as the woods had been, but this was worse because there should have been sound.
“Hello?” I asked expectantly. I felt mighty exposed at that moment with nothing in my hands. I approached the darkened kitchen and grabbed the first thing I came into contact with, a large cast iron frying pan, I felt like I was in the UK, no firearms and all. I grabbed a small pot when I realized that noting was up here with me, I would search for everyone else when I was sure, that Tracy, BT, Azile, and Tommy were safe.
I went out onto the deck and raised my pan laden hand high to the area in the trees where they were. I wanted to let them know I was alright, then I went to the far side of the house and banged the living shit out of them.
“Dinner assholes!” I shouted, oh and they came, in droves. My plan was working a little better than I had intended. I moved further back down the deck away from Tracy’s approach.
I was torn between keeping the zombies attention on me, checking on Tracy’s progress, and finding out the fate of the rest of my family. And still I banged pots over my head like a fucking loon. Then the real fun began as shots rang out. I tossed the pan and pot at the zombies and ducked back into the house (Nancy would later yell at me for tossing her cookware), and back out the French doors on the other side.
Ron, Gary, Travis, and Justin were giving cover fire for their running mother or sister-in-law as the case may be.
“Mom needs longer legs,” Travis said as he chambered another round.
“Here!” Ron said, tossing me a Mossberg.
“How?” I asked.
“Closed-circuit TV. Shut up and start shooting,” he said.
Tommy was following behind, the zombies had closed in behind him and unlike me he swung his swords like a ninja, a deadly assassin ninja. The death he was dealing was artistic in its fury and form. Our job on the deck was to keep the zombies from the sides and the front; our shots were getting closer and closer to Azile, Tracy, and BT. Soon we would be firing on their position.
“They’re not going to make it,” Ron said as he feverishly shoved new rounds in his magazine.
“Trav, trade me!” I yelled to him. He was putting a new magazine in the Armalite MP-4. There was no hesitation as he handed me the thirty round assault rifle for the five rounds of slugs the shotgun held. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said—or maybe thought—as I jumped down off the deck.
They were twenty feet away as I started to fire. I advanced a step or two, firing repeatedly.
“Dad!” Travis yelled. “Magazine!” he yelled down as I heard it thud behind me. I silently thanked him as I continued to mow the zombies down trying to give my loved ones some running room. It was working but partly due to the fact that I was now on the menu and they were coming my way.
“…twenty-nine, thirty,” I said as my breech stayed open, I quickly ejected the spent magazine and twirled to find the new one. I banged it against my leg to lose any dirty, and once I pulled and released the charging handle I was back in business. Good thing, too, because they were close enough to read the serial number on the barrel.
“Ron…gonna need some help!” I yelled as I started to back up. Getting onto the deck was not going to happen; we were going to be underneath it soon.
“Far side of the house! There’s a barred window I can open up to get you in!” he shouted.
I quickly motioned for Tracy to come under the deck and towards the house. She looked longingly at the safety above her and ran to the house like it was a safe zone in a particularly rough game of Tag. Azile was next and a fighting retreating BT pulled up next to her. Tommy was still a one man Cuisinart but his setting was rapidly going from puree to chop.
“Around the house!” I shouted loudly, punctuating my words with rifle fire. I had lost count of my rounds, but I was at least halfway through my magazine and we now had no further support from above.
We were a moving bubble of death. Tommy was now to our side, holding the horde at bay. The swords looked like they were getting heavier by the second as his neck severing swipes were now becoming belly gutting strokes and soon would become soprano makers if you catch my meaning. BT was pushing ahead in front, hacking zombies as if they were wheat and he was a harvester. I was selectively shooting zombies as I brought up the rear. Occasionally, a glint of metal would fly by my face as Tracy felt the need to hack at a zombie.
“I like my nose where it is, woman,” I told her.
Then my backpedaling feet walked into her. I stole a quick glance up ahead. We were stalled.
“BT?” I yelled.
“Stuck, man.”
I heard splintering wood over my head. Travis and Justin were ripping up floorboards.
“Dad, you need ammo?” Justin asked.
“Like a fat kid needs a Twinkie. Tommy…need a little cover while I get this.”
Tommy started to hack by my side along with the ever dangerous thrusts of Tracy. There was a good chance I was going to come out of this battle a eunuch.
Justin was reaching down to me while Travis kept ripping boards up with a crowbar. He got about three up when the barrel of his rifle came through.
With a renewed vigor, I heard BT’s war cry, zombies fell as his adrenaline surged. I drained the remainder of my magazine, giving us a little breathing room, although breathing was not on the top of favorite list right now, not with the smell that accompanied it anyway. Tommy focused his energy back to our side, as I replaced my magazine and began to fire.
“I’ll have another one ready soon dad.” Justin said as he was shoving 5.56 rounds into a fresh magazine.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we didn’t have another minute. If we didn’t get into the house soon, we were done for.
We were again moving but slowly, the zombies were paying in buckets of blood for the precious inches we were gaining. I was on my twelfth round when massive rifle fire came from our front.
I couldn’t see what was going on, but it was fast enough that I thought it was automatic gunfire. If Ron was holding out, I was going to be pissed, that was provided we made it.
“BT?” I screamed over the din.
“Gatling gun I think!” he yelled.
“Are you shitting me?” I asked softly. Now it was worth living just to see what the hell he was talking about.
The zombies were human once and they could not sustain the damage we were inflicting, Travis turned his attention to our backs as we passed his position above.
“You’re uncle is going to be pissed when he sees this damage,” I said as I went underneath him.
“I’ll deal with that later.” He smiled with a strain.
The Gatling gunfire stopped ahead as I imagined Ron was heading back into the basement. BT moved to the side as Azile and Tracy entered through the oversized window. Gary was holding the bars up.
“Go, man.” I tapped BT.
“Go, Tommy!” I yelled.
I fired off the remainder of my rounds and ducked in. Gary let the bars clang down and locked them in place with first a pin and then a lock that I figure was first developed to hold an elephant in place.
Gary hugged me.
“Good to see you, man! Where’s the Gatling gun?” I asked.
Ron was heading into the recesses of the basement.
“Whatcha got there, brother?” I called out.
“Nothing for you!” he said back.
I caught up to him, it was a thing of beauty—eight gun barrels shone brightly.
“It’s a .22 caliber Gatling gun reproduction,” he said defensively.
“You should have told me,” I said, trying to place my hand on it.
“Mike, it cost me ten grand there’s no fucking way I was going to tell you about it.”
