Tower of the Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 5

  “We don’t really got any other choice,” she says, her hand on Alisa’s head.

  “I guess we don’t. Alright then, Paul. Let’s do it.”

  “Just…one thing.” He dips his eyes towards the front door. “The noise may attract some unwelcome guests.”

  Fuck. He’s right. It’ll be a dinner bell for the three gangsters outside.

  “You got a gun or something?”

  Paul shakes his head. “Afraid I don’t, no. What you have,” he winks at my hatchet, “is better than anything I’ve got to offer.”

  I spin the hatchet once and sigh. “Alright then, guess I’ll watch the door and let you do your thing. You two, get over in the corner. Where’s the knife?”

  Tasia backs into the corner, one arm wrapped down across Alisa’s chest. She reaches behind her back and comes out with the blade.

  “Anyone that comes through that door, if they ain’t me, you fight, you got that?”

  Tasia looks at our baby girl. “You don’t gotta tell me to fight. You just get back to us.”

  I nod, kiss her and Alisa, and move quickly to the foyer as Paul plugs the saw into the wall and prepares to get to work.

  I position myself flat against the wall near the handle, that way, if they do kick the door, it doesn’t swing open and smash me.

  Paul doesn’t give me any sort of countdown or warning; he just flips the saw on and gets to digging.

  It’s louder than I could have possibly imagined. When it begins eating into the carpet and wood, it’s downright deafening. I can’t hear shit. For all I know, the Golden Boys are stacking up outside the door right now. All I can do is keep the hatchet ready and watch for the slightest hint of movement.

  I’m dizzy. My pulse is racing. I feel like a car is sitting on my chest. If they’re gonna get here, they need to get here; I might not be in killing shape much longer. For fuck sake, I might keel over and die right here, save the Golden Boys the trouble.

  The wood around the door handle is shredded by gunfire, which sounds like nothing more than a dull series of thuds above the sound of the saw blade chomping up the floor. The door is unseated by a strong kick. The first gangster comes charging into the room, machine gun up, wearing his long white tee with the golden emblem. He’s moving straight back towards the source of the noise. Towards the bedroom, where Tasia and Alisa are hiding.

  But I don’t make a move.

  I wait.

  Another comes in after him. Same baggy ass jeans. Same loud ass shirt. Same machine gun. “Knock, knock, muthafuckas!”

  I strike.

  I jump on the second gang member’s back and sink the blade of the hatchet right into the back of his head. His lights go out instantly. He doesn’t even scream.

  As he’s falling forward, he takes me with him. I go for the ride, reaching around and retrieving the machine gun.

  Now, I’ve never shot one of these damn things. But I figure if these punks can handle one, so can I.

  The first Golden Boy is getting ready to turn into the hall. After that he’ll be out of my sightline and Paul, Tasia, and Alisa will be in his.

  I’m on my stomach, lying across the back of the dead gangster, my hatchet still buried in his head. I extend the machine gun and hold the trigger down. It rattles violently in my hands and the world in front of me turns into one big blur. Once it clicks empty, everything slowly comes back into focus. My target is plastered face first against the wall. The back of his shirt is shredded and is now dyed a deep red. He groans and slides down to his knees, leaving behind a thick smear of blood.

  The moment of relief I feel is quickly replaced by the memory of the third man I’d heard in the hall. As I roll over to check the door, I find that he’s just entering the room. The sight of his two dead homeboys causes him to hesitate and gives me just enough time to roll to my right towards the living room.

  He’s quick on the recovery and opens up fire. The bullets shred the floor behind me. I come out of the roll, clumsily, and stagger to my feet. I throw myself towards the couch, a messy and desperate dive for the only cover available. I go ass over tea kettle as I tumble over the back of the couch and land in a ball on the other side. He continues to fire. The bullets exit the back of the couch just above where I’m laying, dislodging the guts of the furniture, and bathing me in scorched pieces of peach-colored stuffing.

  I’m done for. He’s got me pinned. He’s moving towards me, firing in small bursts. I try to poke my head around to get a better view and almost get it blown off. The coward left in me wants to scream for my wife’s help. I suppress the coward, hold him down, and cover his mouth. I’m not going to put Tasia in danger. The sacrifice is mine and mine alone. Paul should be about done with the floor; hopefully this will give her the time she needs to escape.

  I love you Tasia.

  I love you Alisa.

  The gangster is standing by the arm of the couch, looking down at me, gloating, golden grill on full display. His finger is wrapped around the trigger, squeezing slowly, cherishing the moment.

  I stare right back into his eyes. Chin up. I will die with my pride in hand.

  “This is for Pook and Andre, mothafucka!” The entire right side of his head explodes, plastering the white ceiling with brain matter. He flops across the arm of the couch, dead, his mouth frozen open, golden grill on permanent display.

  Tasia is standing just inside the hallway, the gun of the gangster I’d downed trembling in her hands, the barrel still smoking.

  I grab the gun off the third gangster, dislodge my hatchet from the second one’s head, and run to Tasia’s side. “You okay?” I snap my fingers in front of her face and she jolts. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay.”

  I holster the hatchet in the front chest pocket of my coveralls. “You did good baby, you did real good; saved my ass. You hold onto that.”

  She looks at the machine gun like I’ve just handed her a glass of poison and told her to take a drink.

  “Where we’re going, you’re gonna need it.” It occurs to me that we both have the same amount of experience with a machine gun; I’ve never shot one of these damn things, not until today, and neither has she; looks like we’re both naturals. I step back into the bedroom. Alisa is still in the corner. Paul is walking a slow circle around the middle of the room, the saw bouncing up and down in his hands, dust and carpet fibers flying into the air. “How much longer?” I yell.

  He doesn’t seem to have heard me. He just keeps bouncing along, pausing every now and then to sneeze or blow the small fibers of carpet from the tip of this nose.

  “Paul, how much longer?” I bend over, getting in his face.

  He stops the saw, throws it to the ground, and stomps down hard.

  At first, I think I’ve pissed him off and he’s getting aggressive with me. I jump back, not quite sure how to take it.

  Paul stomps again. The floor quakes. Dust begins to rise. And then everything in front of us falls away, including the saw.

  “Ah, well, shit. I wasn’t planning on using it again anyway,” Paul stands over the hole, admiring his handy work.

  The three of us move in behind Paul and lean over our newly crafted escape hatch. As the dust clears an empty room—except for the pile of fresh debris—reveals itself below us. It looks familiar; pale carpeting and off-white walls.

  I grip Paul by a shoulder and give him a little shake. “Nice work, my friend! Nice work!”

  He turns and smiles at me. “You better get them out of here. I’m sure more will be on the way soon.”

  “You’re not coming with?”

  “Oh no, no, I’m not. I reckon this is my home. I’m going to sit right here and watch my TV.”

  “Paul, they said airstrikes could be on the way, you can’t stay here,” Tasia joins my pleas.

  Paul nods. “Yep, I heard the same thing.”

  “And yet you’re staying?” I ask.

  “And yet I’m staying,” Paul responds with
a smile, his cheeks flushing red as he backs away from the hole.

  I hold out my hand. “You take care of yourself, Paul.”

  “You do the same.” He waves us towards the hole in the floor. “Now go on, get out while you can.”

  I’m the first in, sitting on the jagged edge, legs dangling, listening for any hostile noise. I hear muted voices, but nothing that sounds like it’s coming from the room below me. Nothing that indicates anyone is awaiting my arrival. “Hold these for me and then hand them down if you would.” I hand off the gun and hatchet to Paul. I say a silent prayer and push myself over.

  The pile of debris doesn’t make for a smooth landing. My feet slip out from under me and I roll down the small hill of wood and metal and dust. I find myself face down on the floor, covered in powdered plaster. I come up to my knees and take a quick glance around the room.

  I can still hear the muted voices.

  I can hear footsteps in the hall.

  No bullets.

  No one yelling for back up.

  It appears my entry has gone unnoticed.

  I jump to my feet and shake myself off. “Gun and hatchet,” my voice is a raspy whisper as I stand on the tips of my toes and strain to reach the weapons that Paul is dangling above my head. I set them at my feet and reach out to receive Alisa as Paul gradually lowers her into my arms. After that, it’s Tasia’s turn.

  With everyone safely on the ground, we bid Paul farewell and begin to make our way through the seemingly empty apartment. We don’t talk unless we have to, using whispers and one word sentences to express ourselves; everything else is communicated through hand signals and facial expressions.

  I’m cooking along at a decent pace, the girls are staying close. We’re moving into the hallway and towards the living-room. I still don’t have any idea how we’re going to make it back to the stairwell; there’s an army of Golden Boys blocking our path. But just as that thought begins to swell in my head, a potential answer reveals itself in the living room.

  “Wow!” Tasia breathes in my ear.

  “Wow is right.”

  It’s the Golden Boys’ weapons cache. There are guns upon guns scattered across the floor. It’s obvious they’d come through earlier to arm themselves; it’d probably been shortly after the shit hit the fan. There are tipped over boxes of ammo and empty magazines strewn about. But despite that, there’s still plenty of hardware to go around.

  “We can definitely use this stuff.”

  It’s mostly AK-47’s and handguns; there are a few rickety-looking revolvers in the crowd.

  “Take this.” I hand Tasia one of the AK’s and two magazines to go along with it.

  “I don’t know how to shoot this,” she says, pointing the rifle towards the ceiling and turning it in her hands.

  “Neither do I.” I’m still of the mindset that if those punk ass thugs can do it, so can I.

  She sighs and sticks the extra mags in the front of her waistband.

  “Here, back up.” I hand her a pistol and take one for myself. “Tuck it next to the mags, just don’t shoot yourself; keep that finger far away from the trigger.”

  I remove the hatchet from the chest pocket of my coveralls and extend it to Alisa. “You hold onto this.”

  She frowns at the blood on the blade. “I don’t want to have to hurt anyone else.”

  “Hopefully you won’t have to, but I can’t promise you anything.” I lift her head up by the chin. “Listen, right now you need to be brave. There are folks out there that want to hurt us, you know that, right?”

  She nods.

  “Sometimes being brave means you have to hurt people that are trying to hurt you. And it’s not because you want to or because you enjoy it, it’s because you want to survive, you want to protect yourself, you want to protect the people you love.” I hold up my rifle in front of her face and pull the lever, chambering a round. “I don’t want to have to use this. But when we go out that door, chances are, there will be folks that will try to do harm to you and your mom. The only way to stop them will be for me to hurt them. I don’t want to. I won’t enjoy it. But nothing is going to take you away from me or me away from you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah,” she nods rapidly, her fingers closing tight around the handle of the hatchet, “I do.”

  “Good, now let’s get out of here.”

  I go to stand but she grabs me by the sleeve. “Dad, wait.”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Thank you for saving me.” She wraps her arms around my neck and I can feel myself begin to choke up a little.

  “Oh, baby girl, you don’t have to thank me for that. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Besides, I couldn’t have done it without your mom.”

  She quickly releases me and her arms coil around Tasia’s waist. “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Aw, anything for you, baby.”

  I stand and give Tasia a quick peck on the lips. “Ya’ll ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Tasia says.

  7

  They make it look so easy in the movies. The good guys storm the enemy compound, creeping along unseen until they find the perfect position to lay their ambush. When they strike, their bullets always seem to travel with a godlike precision, putting the enemy down silently without alerting the others; rinse and repeat until the mission is complete.

  Maybe the it factor is that they’re trained military.

  Or, maybe, it’s that they’re bullshit figments of Hollywood’s imagination machine.

  Whatever the case may be, there’s nowhere for us to go.

  No perfect target.

  No perfect position for us to lay our ambush.

  I lean from the doorway to find the hall crammed with close to a dozen Golden Boys. All of them are armed to their golden grills. They look war-torn. The bullet-riddled bodies of their fellow gang members are lifeless at their feet.

  “Man, this is fucked up!” One of them says.

  “We heard you the first fifty fuckin’ times you said that, bruh. Give that shit a rest.”

  “Nah, man, nah! You didn’t have to put your own brotha down! You don’t know what I’m goin’ through, mothafucka!”

  “Yo, man, chill the fuck out! We all goin’ through it! We just gotta keep this shit together.”

  “This is some evil, satanic bullshit, bruh, for real.”

  “We don’t know what this shit is, so ya’ll just shut the fuck up, stay cool.”

  I lean back inside and place my forehead against Tasia’s. “There’s no other way. We have to go through them. You ready for this?”

  Tasia gives a nervous, little laugh. “Do I have a choice?”

  What’s one more war? All three of us already look like we’ve been through a couple; beat up, bumped up, covered in blood that’s not our own.

  “Alisa, you stay put till we come get you, got it?”

  She nods and scoots back deeper into the apartment, clutching the hatchet to her chest.

  Me and Tasia lean from the doorway; I’m standing and she’s crouched below me. We take aim and I’m the first to fire. My rounds land in the back of the Golden Boy closest to me, face planting him. After that, I can’t really follow where my bullets are going or who I’m hitting. But there are wounded screams and men on the ground, so I know I’m doing something right. Tasia is firing too, but she’s letting off small bursts and getting roughed up by the recoil. I reckon we’ve put down close to half of them with our first barrage. There are maybe four or five left and they’re taking up cover around the corner near the stairwell entrance and inside nearby apartments.

  I notice that two apartments up, on the right, the door is open. It’s time to relocate.

  “Cover me!”

  “Wait, wh—”

  “Cover me, goddamnit!”

  I move sideways out of cover. I’m shuffling my feet, stepping with the front and dragging the back. It’s a deadly game of whack-a-mol
e as I move; every time I see one of them attempt to poke their head out, I lay down a quick burst of gunfire.

  Tasia is late on the trigger. I’m halfway to my next position before I hear her AK spring to life.

  I roll into cover as one of the remaining gangsters blind-fires; he gets lucky and lands a few shots close to my position.

  With my back against the door frame, I change out magazines and chamber a round. “You boys want to live or die?” I don’t have anything planned, no mental script, I’m just drunk off the adrenaline of full-blown combat.

  “You the one that’s gonna die, old man!” He punctuates his proclamation by squeezing the trigger and sending a swarm of lead whistling past my head.

  We’ve both said our peace. I don’t suppose there is any further conversation to be had. I go down on one knee. I can see the doors on the left side of the hallway running all the way up to the window on the other end. Three apartments up from me, on the left, I can see the heel of a white Nike tennis shoe with a gold-colored checkmark. I aim and fire.

  Three shots.

  One goes wide.

  One lands in his heel.

  One lands in his ankle.

  He yelps and falls over sideways into the hall.

  Before I have a chance to finish him, Tasia pumps five rounds in his back.

  “Mothafuckas!” One of the gangsters rolls into the hall, fanning his weapon back and forth as he holds down the trigger.

  Debris fills the air around me as the bullets shred the walls and ceiling. I put my body back behind cover and leave my weapon exposed, returning fire blindly. I look to Tasia. She’s braving the storm, flinching against the barrage, her index finger bouncing against the trigger.

  Our enemy goes silent.

  I roll back out and take aim, waiting for the dust to clear.

  He’s down and dead, blood pooling beneath him.

  “Ah, fuck, they killed Elmer, bruh! They killed him! He’s fuckin’ dead!”

  “I’m gonna get you muthafuckas, that’s on my word!”

  Their voices sound like they’re coming from the opening to the stairwell.

  I keep my rifle aimed at that corner. “Only two of you left, you really wanna die over this shit?”