Breakout (zombie story pt.V)

I must have looked like a lunatic to anyone down on the street in my massive blue cowboy hat, big rounded dark sunglasses, yellow button up top, blue jeans, red chaps, and red leather boots. I tipped back on my chair almost falling backwards. Steadying myself, I sipped from my beer. I suspect the cliental of party and costume shops were drunks, I know I was quite intoxicated when I bought the outfit. The sun was going down and traffic and crowds were reaching their afternoon crescendo as commuters spewed forth from the nearby train station. Shops were closing while restaurants were opening and pubs were swelling. A rowdy group of late youths, both men and women, were nearing on the footpath bellow. They laughed and talked as they walked, occasionally pushing one another playfully when they became the butt of some joke. They looked like the average sort of kid you find getting about, just out of school and fresh into the work place or screwing around drinking at university. One of them, a tall, handsome looking male with a pierced eyebrow looked up at me. I drew one of my silver plastic cap guns and pointed it at him. 1

‘What up cow-fag,’ he said sarcastically. The woman next to him stuck her elbow into his ribs shooting him a dark look. Apparently, jokes about fags weren’t on.2

I considered a moment and raised the cap gun over my head, pointed at the sky and fired off a couple of caps. ‘End of the world baby.’ 3

The youths laughed contemptuously. The one who had spoken, now with a superior smirk, asked what I was talking about.4

‘Fucking zombies,’ I explained.5

‘This fags loaded,’ I heard one of them mutter, another male. By loaded I assumed he wasn’t referring to my cap gun.6

I pointed my gun at the second speaker. ‘That’s right, pardner.’ I pulled the trigger to nothing but the sharp click of plastic on plastic. Damn.7

‘Out of ammo, pardner?’ First male again. They all laughed and started on their way.8

I holstered my gun and went inside to retrieve another beer. At this rate there wouldn’t be a drink in the house by the following week, the thought worried me not in the least.9

There was the familiar sound of my neighbour, Laten, shaking a box of dry cat food. ‘Tullah.’10

‘Hi, Jake,’ Laten greeted as I peered over the balcony.11

‘Pardner.’12

‘Have you seen Tullah?’13

‘Can’t rightly say.’14

Laten went back to calling his cat. ‘Tullah, yum, yum.’ I went back to drinking.15

There was a crash of metal and falling drums, the hiss of a cat. Laten went to the alley on the far side of the communications store, of which his flat was above. ‘Yum, yum, Tullah,’ he called as he entered the mouth of the alley, moving out of sight. ‘Tu-’ screams of pain and desperate appeals for help replaced Laten’s call. Moments later a torrent of the dead began spilling from the alley, lunging at the startled crowd.16

The screaming and yelling began as I leapt to my feet. Instinctively I drew my useless cap guns. ‘Run you fools,’ I drunkenly bellowed, ineffectually hurling the guns at the closest dead. I tried to get inside to the phone, but tripped on the door rails sprawling face first to the floor. Luckily, my ridiculous fifty-gallon hat hadn’t come off. On all fours, I crawled to the table where the phone had been left. Shit, it wasn’t there. Grabbing the table I pulled myself to my feet, in a few steps and leaping down the stairs, I went into the kitchen, took the phone off the wall and dialled emergency services. 17

The calm automated service answered. ‘Whi-’18

‘Police.’19

There was a brief silence, a dial tone, than, ‘All operators are currently busy. Please stay on the line, your safety is important to us.’20

‘Bastards!’ My boot smashed through the wall. I began the most impatient wait of my life.21

‘Police, how may I take your call?’ A brusque feminine voice.22

‘Zombies!’ I blurted.23

‘Sorry sir?’24

‘The dead.’ This was me clarifying.25

‘You mean the affected? Sir, there is no su-’26

‘Yes, yes. near train station on Kings Street, Newtown.’27

The woman was part way through a thank you when I hung up.28

Back up on the balcony the view was more like what I had expected since the first realisation of the outbreak. Chaos - running and screaming and the moaning of the dead. Nearby on the concrete below a couple of the dead were rummaging through the inner-bodily contents of a deceased aged woman. There were other dead, no way to tell how many in the panicked crowed, chasing after the living at full zombie speed. Everywhere I saw the wounded, heedlessly blundering off to visit the affliction on any poor bastard nice and stupid enough to care for them. 29

Not everyone was fleeing. There were those down on the street that were standing and fighting. Some seemed to be fighting out of misplaced sense of heroism, while others were there for the chance to crack skulls. I watched one of the dead numbly take a fist to the face. The dead fell on the combatant and took a chunk out of his face. They had no idea. The situation deteriorated once the police arrived. They were unprepared and uncertain. Eventually, the police donned gasmasks and settled for shooting off teargas and walloping the dead and the living alike. As the gas cloud spread I decide to find a gasmask of my own. There was one hanging on a peg in the storeroom. I slipped it over my head but couldn’t bring myself to go back out there to witness the foolery. The situation was being handled as if they were dealing with a bunch of rioters with a case of the common cold. Soon there would be many more of the dead. I went down stairs and turned the TV on. I sat there on the couch, gasmask on, watching a vast crowed of protesters. The slogans on their signs were of the opinion the affected were people too, therefore, presumably worthy of human rights. I changed the channel. Painted on a huge banner was the phrase, “nuke the fuckers”, another demonstration. Your choice of nuts. I opted for passing out.