OK, so that was pretty underwhelming.
I turned toward the river, contemplating our meager chances of swimming for the approaching ferry, when I caught Clare’s panicked expression in the side-view mirror. I shrugged sheepishly. It was my first pipe bomb. Maybe my proportions were wrong—or the ingredients too old to be effective.
But before I could let my wife’s dismay rub off on me, the second bomb exploded—and this time, it unleashed enough power to topple not only the beam but the entire facade, plus the overhead door and part of the roof. Luckily, the rubble landed on the speediest zombies—who had almost crossed the threshold when the follow-up explosion occurred—and thwarted the rest of them from reaching the rear dock.
Clare gave me a thumbs-up through the driver’s-side window, while the others cheered inside. Though pleased that the first part of my crazy-ass plan had worked, I couldn’t rest on my laurels. I still had more insanity ahead of me.
With no time to waste, I scurried onto the roof of the van. But as I steeled myself to leap for the top of the wall, the ferry horn blasted again. Startled, I stumbled and almost slipped off the edge. Worse, the moans, hisses, and stomps of the unseen zombie horde amplified in response.
“What the fuck?” I yelled to no one in particular. “Stop working them up!”
Not that Captain Sal and his shipmates could hear me over the collective din of the undead.
But, seriously, why had the captain chosen that precise moment to toot his damn horn? Was he telling me, not so subtly, to step on it? He did realize I was risking my life for his daughter, right? Not to mention doing my level best to solve a problem he’d created by sending us to a decrepit wharf in the first place.
I glanced at the ferry, which bobbed close to the shore, and glared at the riveted spectators on both levels.
Terrific. I love defying death for other folks’ entertainment.
I pivoted back toward the wall, the top of which was almost even with my scalp. Of course, the height didn’t concern me as much as the three-foot gap between the van and the barrier. I’d parked as close as I could, but not close enough. Given my sleep deprivation, I suspected jumping toward the wall, striving to grasp the rim, and attempting to pull my fat ass over it wouldn’t be easy—especially with an audience floating nearby.
Once again hoping for the best—while expecting the worst—I extended my arms and leapt toward the wall. My fingers slipped, the rifle smacked against the concrete, but I managed to grip the edge and, after a modicum of effort, pull myself upward. With my chest and elbows pressed against the wall, I swung my right leg over the side and, after a bit of struggling, straddled the top.
Cheers erupted from within my van and out on the ferry. Blushing, I took a few seconds to catch my breath. But only a few. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see (and hear) the zombies rushing and stumbling through the second warehouse.
Then, trying to ignore the fact that a whole bunch of folks were watching the exhausted, overweight guy on the wall, I rose gingerly to my feet, shimmied along the top, and climbed over the railing of the deck that encircled the tower.
As soon as my shoes hit the steel bar grating, several zombies collided with the lower level of the structure, causing the entire edifice to shake unnervingly. Whatever I was fixing to do, I’d better do it quick, or else, the tower would tumble into the river with my dumb ass on it.
A stream of undead creatures thundered up the outer staircase below me. I squinted at the winching device on the landing, calculating the odds of my being able to turn the crank and release the ramp before the zombies ripped me to pieces. Suddenly, I spotted a fulcrum on the other side of the reel and a lever leading from it to a hole in the exterior wall of the tower.
Turning toward the stairs, I realized the leaders of the undead pack had almost reached the top. Instinctively, I darted inside the control room, slammed and bolted the door, and toppled an empty shelving unit across the entrance. The flimsy structure couldn’t hold off my uninvited guests forever, but perhaps it would buy me an extra minute or two.
Scanning the wall, I sighed with relief. Someone had indeed installed a crank below the window—perhaps in case an operator had to lower the boat ramp in inclement weather. Or an undead shitstorm.
As soon as the zombies reached the upper landing, they immediately hurled themselves against the door and windows, trying to get to the tasty meal inside the tower’s control room. Though suspecting I was fucked, I knew I couldn’t give up yet. I had at least one more job to do before the grotesque pus-sacks busted inside and devoured me.
So, I kneeled on the dusty floor and attempted to pull the crank toward me, trusting the chains would unfurl and lower the ramp on the other side of the wall. But, naturally, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. As I’d feared, it had rusted in place.
“Goddammit!” I banged the heel of my hand against the lever. “Why must everything be so fucking difficult?!”
While my cursing fit was more than understandable, given the dire circumstances, it only succeeded in riling up the zombies, who had spread along the entire wraparound decking. In other words, I was surrounded.
Beside the crank, I noticed a small control panel featuring several levers presumably related to the ramp. Banking on one of them being a quick-release control for the chain, I fiddled with them all, then sat back and waited.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, and my empty stomach sank in dismay. Then, an ungodly screech echoed beyond the door—louder than even
