Dead America The Third Week (Book 4): Dead America, Miami Read online

  Again the zombies weren’t in the restaurant areas, giving Kenny a blissful free pass on the block. However, as he approached the end, the next beach access was a lot more packed than the last. He skidded to a stop and looked around for an idea of anywhere, anything to help him, and saw a pizza restaurant with an open bay door.

  He quickly darted in and did a quick sweep of the place, finding nothing inside. He ducked behind the counter, but kept his head up to watch the front. His quad was on fire, and he hissed as he stretched out and massaged it a bit.

  Eight more blocks, buddy, he thought as he rubbed his leg. Eight more blocks. You got this. He checked his watch. Forty-five minutes left. Getting real close to the fourth quarter, there. This is your time to shine. You always knocked it out in crunch time, that’s why you went in the first round of the draft.

  He chewed his lower lip, closing his eyes for a moment, and then shook his head. Yeah man, just think of all them boys from back home who never thought you’d amount to anything! Where are they now? They probably out there like those beach goers, wandering aimlessly in search of their next meal.

  He let go of his leg to check his gun, and reloaded it, tossing the spent magazine to the side. There was no point weighing himself down anymore—it was unlikely he’d ever use that clip again. He resumed a quick rub of his sore leg, the muscles finally starting to relax a little.

  Okay, enough of this, he thought, and got to his feet. Fourth quarter is kicking off, and you need to figure out what the hell you’re gonna do.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  8 Blocks Until the Pier

  Kenny did one more stretch to make sure his quad was loosened up for the next chunk of his path. He took a deep breath, feeling good about his strength for the next leg of his race, and headed to the front of the store to take stock of the situation.

  He looked ahead to the beach and towards the pier, pursing his lips at the view of easily a thousand zombies pretty tight together. Not the best option, there. He turned to peer down the boardwalk, seeing dozens at the far end looking in his direction. They were stuck behind a waist-high fence at the fancy restaurant on the corner.

  Well, you can take your chances on the beach, he thought with a grimace, or you hope those boys at the end are okay with your crowd surfing.

  He glanced back the way he’d come. Or, you can backtrack and hope the street is clear, which is about as likely as your crowd surfing idea working.

  He looked at his watch. Forty-two minutes until the ship set sail for good. He clicked his teeth together a few times, clenching and unclenching his fist. Gotta keep pushing forward, but how?

  A gust of wind picked up, and a closed table umbrella clanged against the metal table. He looked at it as it rattled about, noting its seven-foot-wide wingspan. He headed over, feeling the canvas material and opening it up to see that the struts beneath were metal. He glanced at the zombies, and then back at the umbrella.

  This just might be crazy enough to work. He chuckled at the image in his head of a king-sized Mary Poppins with the giant thing. He picked it up, a heavy beast with a shaft of steel, carrying it under his arm to the pretentious restaurant on the corner.

  “Sorry y’all, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back a bit,” he declared in his best bouncer voice, and used the tip of the umbrella to shove a few zombies back, giving him room to operate.

  Once he was able to get the front on the other side, he slid the center mechanism to open it up, creating what was effectively a steel-reinforced barrier seven-feet-wide. He pulled it back so that the edges rested against the fence, and nothing could get through it.

  He shook his head and readied himself to go. “Of all the whacked-out ideas you’ve had in your life, this one is certainly up there.”

  He shoved forward and leapt over the fence in one go, pushing the horde back. He pumped his legs hard, parting the sea of zombies. Some of them bowled completely over, flopping around like fish as they attempted to get back to their feet.

  With the umbrella under one arm like a jousting lance, he pulled the handgun with his free hand and aimed as best he could, firing at one of the fallen zombies lunging for him from behind. The first bullet found its target, but when he fired at a second one, he missed. He cursed, aimed and fired again, striking it down.

  He quickly holstered the gun and started pushing again, until the metal tip clanged against the metal of the next restaurant fence. He quickly swung the umbrella from side to side, knocking the ghouls back before flipping it over his head and rushing forward.

  There was one lone zombie that had survived the wriggling canvas, so he lowered his shoulder and tackled it over the fence. They hit the ground hard, Kenny landing awkwardly on his shoulder. He let out a grunt, hoping it was just bruised and not separated. The zombie rolled over and reached for him, opening its rotted mouth in hunger.

  Kenny drew his gun, put it to the corpse’s head and fired. He kicked away from the fence, out of the reach of the hungry zombies trying to grab a snack between the rungs. Once clear, he relaxed on his back for a moment to catch his breath.

  “Kinda surprised I made that one,” he huffed, and laughed to himself. The umbrella was stupid. He was fortunate he was alive. How many times was he going to feel that way today? Or for the rest of the apocalypse?

  He got to his feet with a grunt and holstered his gun, walking along the boardwalk, rubbing his shoulder. Thankfully it was just dinged up a little and not dislocated.

  The path was clear through the next block, and miraculously the next beach access crossing. He took a deep breath and quickened his pace to a jog.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  6 Blocks Until the Pier

  Kenny checked his watch. Thirty minutes left until his ride would sail off, leaving him stranded with a thousand hungry zombies. He took a knee just outside of a restaurant door, looking out at the ocean.

  There was a boat on the horizon. He assumed that was his ride. He looked at the beach, at the masses of rotted bodies on the sand, as well as in the surf.

  Come on now, buddy, don’t be thinking about that, he urged silently. Even if you did make it past those beach bums, there’s gonna be a lot of them in the water, including under it. You weren’t the best swimmer to begin with, let alone when something is trying to pull you under.

  He looked out towards the boat again, and noticed a lifeguard station on the next block, about thirty yards into the sand. It was a big red building on stilts, with a ramp that had a ninety-degree turn in it to reach the cabin entrance. Beneath was a shiny, jet-black four wheeler.

  Man, would be nice to hop on that thing, he thought, eyes going starry with the fantasy. I’d be at the pier in no time.

  He looked at his watch again. Twenty-nine minutes.

  Buddy, you gonna have to take a chance, either swimming in those things or hoping that the keys to that ride are in that building. He chewed his lip for a moment, and then checked his handgun. The magazine was three-quarters full. As he put it away, he studied his route like he was studying a punt return, figuring his path forward.

  Get moving man, time is short! He grunted and burst from his hiding spot like an olympic runner, hopping the fence beside the restaurant and straight into the beach access area. His feet hitting the wood alerted a few zombies on the beach, and they turned, moaning in his direction.

  He ignored them as he hit the sand, forcing him to pump his legs harder on the unstable ground. His quad screamed as he moved past them, and tore down the coast.

  There were easily a hundred zombies standing between him and the lifeguard tower, but they were spread out fairly well. While the sand was difficult for him to run on, it was also difficult for the creatures, and they moved slowly, sometimes falling flat on their faces as they turned.

  The fallen ones managed to trip up their excited brethren, and any that managed to stagger into his bath, he simply dropped his good shoulder and checked them in the chest, sending them back and out of the way.

 
Check the four-wheeler first, he thought as he kept his eye on the prize. Maybe they left the key in the ignition.

  He ran beneath the raised building and straight towards the vehicle. He slowed down and cautiously skirted it, gun drawn just in case there was a hidden threat. When there was no ghoul there waiting to jump out and attack his face, he holstered the weapon and checked over the vehicle. There was no key.

  “Yeah, that would have been too easy, right?” he muttered, and turned to jog back out from under the structure. Hundreds of zombies shambled towards him in the sand, and he tore for the ramp, hitting it hard. There were two zombies there between him and the guard tower, and they turned at the first sound of his trainers hitting wood.

  He rushed them, getting in between the two and driving them both into the railing with his monstrous arms. He flexed as hard as he could, flipping them both over the side. They landed on a handful of zombies below, toppling them all over into a heap on the beach.

  He rushed up the rest of the ramp to the door, shoving it open as he reached it. As he stepped inside, two shirtless lifeguard zombies staggered towards him from the other side of the small room. He drew his gun and aimed carefully, squeezing the trigger.

  The first bullet hit one of them in the throat, and he cursed, adjusting slightly to fire again, dropping one. He knew his ammo was running low, so he walked right up to the second one and fired into its forehead at point-blank range.

  As the body crumpled to the ground, footsteps echoed on the ramp, and Kenny’s breath quickened with panic. He rushed back to the door and slammed it shut, grabbing a nearby desk and shoving it against the frame, hoping that would buy him some time.

  “Keys, man, find the keys,” he urged himself, and began to tear the room apart. He looked on top of desks, in drawers, on shelves. He threw papers to the ground in frustration, tearing towels and equipment down from the hooks along the wall. After a minute or so, he growled and then turned to the two unmoving bodies.

  He sighed. “You know what you gotta do.” He knelt beside the closest one and went through the pockets of its standard-issue bathing suit. He winced as the putrid flesh cracked at the light pressure of him rummaging. There was nothing in the pockets there, so he moved to the other one and tried there.

  As he dug his hand into the second body’s pocket, he turned his head away to try to give his nose a break from the rotted smell, and then noticed a small hook on the wall with a little neon yellow post-it above it. Scrawled across it in blue pen were the words four wheeler.

  He let out a defeated sigh before removing his hand from the pocket and wiping them furiously on his pants. “Not a surprise given how this day is going.”

  He went over to the hook and grabbed the keyring from the hook, gripping it tight. He jumped as loud banging began on the door, signaling the zombies had reached the top of the ramp.

  Kenny ran to the window facing the boardwalk, pushing open the wooden shutter. He looked out, staring down at easily eighty zombies standing directly below him. Hoping for a better result, he headed to the beach side opening, throwing it open to reveal dozens of zombies there and hundreds more coming.

  He stepped back into the center of the room, pressing his fists into his temples. He looked at his watch again. Twenty-two minutes.

  “Cutting this way too close, man,” he groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Way too close.”

  He looked around the room frantically, for anything that might help him escape. After checking over staplers, a printer, a laptop, and a beaded bracelet reading Claire, he found a walkie-talkie.

  “Now we’re cooking,” he murmured hopefully. He picked it up and flipped it on, relieved that the batteries still worked. He fiddled around with the knobs on the top, finally finding a way for it to emit a high-pitched tone. He winced as he turned it to full volume, and quickly ran to the boardwalk-side opening.

  He reeled back and then hucked it as hard as he could down the beach, away from the pier. He stepped back from the window, moving to the side so he could see out but the zombies wouldn’t be able to see him.

  “Come on, move,” he urged under his breath. “Go get that thing.”

  The majority of the zombies on that side were attracted to the noise, and began to wander off towards it. He gave it a few minutes, watching as dozens of them moved away from the opening.

  He checked his watch again. Nineteen minutes. He looked over the edge again. Six zombies below.

  No choice man, you gotta go! He holstered his gun and pulled the sledgehammer from his back. He slipped the keyring onto his ring finger to keep them safe as he gripped the hammer tight.

  He leapt from the window, plummeting eight feet to the ground. He landed just on the far side of the zombies in the sand, and ignored the stinging in his quad, immediately whipping around to swing hard. He caught the rightmost zombie in the ribcage, and drove it into the others, setting off a domino effect.

  Half of them hit the ground immediately, the other three staggering backwards. Kenny rushed beneath the building and hopped on the four-wheeler, slinging the hammer back on his shoulder in a fluid motion. He put the key in and turned the ignition, hitting the starter. The sound of the vehicle springing to life was like a breath of air after a near-drowning.

  Just as he hit the throttle, a zombie reached for him, catching its arm in the sledgehammer. It pulled Kenny back just enough that he flipped back off of the vehicle, the four-wheeler rolling forward several yards by itself.

  He hit the sand, knocking some of the air from his lungs as he landed on the hammer itself. The zombie reached for him, but he quickly rolled onto his stomach, out of reach. He staggered to his feet, fumbling for the gun, and shot the hungry asshole ghoul in the face.

  The noise had attracted some of the mob back, and they converged within a few yards of him. Kenny quickly took off running as fast as he could towards the vehicle. He bum rushed a shoulder hit to knock a straggler zombie out of the way, and he hopped back into the four-wheeler and hit the throttle, holding on tight this time.

  It lurched forward, slamming into several creatures in front of it, knocking them to the side. Kenny sped up the beach, putting a little bit of distance between him and the horde at the guard shack. However, after a few more blocks, he looked towards the pier, and slammed on the brakes.

  There was a wall of creatures between him and his destination, with virtually no gaps between them. “Fuck!” he groaned. Only three blocks away and no clear path.

  He looked back towards the boardwalk, seeing only a relative handful of zombies in the beach access area, with the streets sparsely populated, at least up to the intersection.

  The pier park entrance is only a few blocks up and over, he thought frantically. Longer drive, but this thing should move better on roads. He checked his watch. Thirteen minutes left on the timer. Let’s do it!

  He made the turn and hit the throttle, speeding off towards the road, heart pounding in his ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  3 Blocks Until the Pier

  Kenny sped off the beach, ramming into a few zombies as he blew by them to get onto the road. He approached the first intersection, where there were dozens milling about, slowly turning towards him as he revved the engine.

  As he blew through the intersection, knocking creatures down as he went, he glanced to the side and noticed the road thick with rotted bodies. He sped ahead on the side street, which was less densely populated, but he still had to be careful that he didn’t get knocked off by any outstretched arms.

  The next two blocks went quickly, and he made a hard left turn to head for the pier park. He sped ahead, weaving in and out of zombie traffic like a sports car on a freeway. With a block to go, he sat up a little straighter to get a good view of the park. There was a jam of busted vehicles at the entrance, completely blocking it off.

  Gonna have to run up the side street to get close to the pier, he thought, and kicked down a little to approach the entrance. He prepared to turn towards the
beach and move closer before hopping the fence into the park, but his plan fell to pieces when he saw yet another wall of corpses a block down from the entrance.

  He shook his head and sighed. “This is what I get for living in a tourist destination,” he muttered.

  He hit the brakes and hopped off of the four-wheeler, running over to the wrecked vehicles blocking off the entrance. He hopped up onto the hood of one of the crashed cars, looking into the parking lot and noting several zombies milling about.

  He checked his watch. Nine minutes to go.

  Hope Nicko isn’t taking off early. Without any time to waste, he hopped down and made a run for the pier. It would be a three-block trip, through the park, with god only knew how many creatures in his path.

  He pulled his sledgehammer from his back as he moved, holding it in one hand as he tore down the paved pathways weaving through shade trees. Dozens of zombies milled about, but thankfully the fences had kept out large numbers, coupled with the dead cars at the gate.

  Two more blocks.

  He stayed focused, running straight ahead, eye on the prize. Once he emerged from the wooded area of the park, he came to a big field, and relief soared in his chest at the sight of only a handful of creatures. His quad zinged, and he stopped for a moment to rub it frantically.

  “Come on now,” he whispered. “We ain’t going through all this and coming this close and crapping out. You can rest on the boat.”

  His leg relaxed and he glanced at his watch. Six minutes left.

  He let out a huff and pressed on, managing to avoid the zombies in the field with relative ease. He could see the beginning of the pier now, and there was a pack of ten zombies standing between him and his escape.

  “Made it this far, y’all ain’t stopping me,” he grunted, and gripped the hammer with both hands. He tore forward, and the zombies turned towards him like a living wall, not giving him any lanes to dart through.