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Fiction – Ruth’s Story Part #15

February 17, 2012

Jogging with this backpack on is not going to be an option. Thankfully despite holding a desk job, I have remained in good physical shape. I am not at my peak physical shape like when I was in the Sayeret Maglan, but I am still in decent enough physical condition that hauling this pack and my weapons is not too great a burden.

My lungs are telling me though, that I have been smoking way too much. Damn cigarettes, so tasty but so bad for me!

Standing outside in the glaring sun is giving me a headache so I quickly trot underneath the concourse. Above me one level up is a glass-encased pedestrian walkway. I had considered going up stairs to that walkway but now I see it is filled with shambling dead.

With the power out the automatic doors will not open trapping the living dead inside. Let us hope they stay there. Way too many dead in there for me to handle easily; I do not like the odds.

Thankfully the rental cars are on this level. However now I see that the parking garage is one fucking huge dark tomb. Great!

I am going to have to use one of my flashlights in the parking garage which is going to be a beacon for undead. I squat down and dig my little Surefire E2L out of my Scottevest jacket.

Maybe if I put my little flashlight on the low setting it will not be as bad a lure as I fear it might. Thankfully the rental car companies are all in the same area in the parking garage and fairly close to this side of the terminal.

I just have to find the elevators. Just behind the elevators are the rental cars. According to the map I saw in the baggage claim, the elevators are just inside the parking garage.

My stomach reminds me that I have not eaten since this morning. My mouth is parched and I am desperately thirsty. Not sure what time it is. I am guessing by the position of the sun it is probably early afternoon.

Putting my Surefire flashlight in my left hand and my Browning Hi-Power still with its AAC silencer mounted in my right hand I prepare to enter the dark parking garage. I quickly glance to make sure the pistol’s safety is still off –it is, good, I do not want to fumble with the safety in the dark with a flesh-craving zombie trying to take a bite out of my ass.

The sunlight outside is bright enough I can see the back of the elevators. There are two pairs of elevators, making four elevators on this side of the parking garage. The bright and shiny stainless steel of the elevator doors reflects a bit of light around the area so that I can see a little bit.

Reaching the corner of the elevator shaft, I stop to check my back trail. Nothing seems to have followed me. Now for the fun part –is there anything ahead of me?

Keeping my left side to the elevator shaft, I scoot around the corner to take a peek inside the parking garage. Damn, Enterprise Rental Cars is the second spot over! I can see several Budget cars closest to me. If I had keys for some of those cars, they might do instead of the Smart Forfour car I desire from Hertz.

A large white sedan is parked closest to me on the other side of the parking ticket issuing machines. The powerless parking ticket machines face away from me towards the parking lot. Maintaining my left side against the elevator shaft I continue my scoot around the elevators until I get as close as I can to the parking ticket machines.

Looking around for movement, and not seeing any I quickly scoot to the side of the parking ticket machines. Leaning against the machines, I try to slow my breathing and take another look around. It is about three meters to the closest car, that late-model white sedan I spotted earlier. Parked beside it is another nondescript late model white sedan.

Both sedans are four door base models, with no amenities. Simple, efficient cars but the only keys I have are for Avis and Hertz. I did not see the rental kiosks for Enterprise and Budget in the baggage claim. Must be in another part of the airport than what I was stuck in.

Oh well no help for it now. I suppose I could smash a window and hot wire one of the sedans but that would take precious time that I do not have. It has been a long time since I tried to hot wire a car. I learned the basics in the Mossad many years ago. Mossad agents are taught how to hot wire a car in case you have to steal one to escape. I never had to use that particular skill and was not the best grand theft auto student anyway.

Not the time to learn or try to relearn how to steal a car with carnivorous undead trying to kill me. I will just have to make it down to the Avis and Hertz rental cars. I am hoping that my little flashlight will not attract attention with the power set on low.

Taking a moment to check my back trail again and look around, I have a nostalgic momentary craving for a very expensive Starbucks coffee drink. I have not had any caffeine in quite a while, which explains my dull headache. While the nicotine has been nice, it has failed to cure the slight headache from caffeine withdrawal.

As I look around and wax nostalgic about a huge, over-priced sticky-sweet Starbucks coffee drinks, I see a zombie. This zombie I can barely see in the dim light, but the way it moves screams zombie. It is definitely a Caucasian female in a skirt and heels now standing still beside the elevator shaft.

By the zombie’s outline, which is about all I can see in the dark, I am guessing she might have once been a flight attendant or other uniformed person. Since zombies were at one time human, I hope that they have our characteristic bad vision in the dark.

I really hope the zombies have not mutated heat-sensing eyes, or developed eyes similar to other night time predators in the animal kingdom. By the way the zombie is standing still and swiveling its head, I am guessing that she is visually-queued and will react to movement.

I wonder if the zombie saw me as I moved to my present position? Perhaps when I slid behind the parking ticket machine the zombie lost me. I wonder if the zombie has the mental capacity to reason where I might have gone.

I remember the National Guardsmen telling me that zombies are attracted to bright light and loud noises. A brief thought crosses my mind. I have the keys to several cars I wonder what the zombies would do if I hit the panic button on several of the remote control fobs in my pocket?

Several car alarms going off would definitely attract the zombies but I cannot risk attracting too many zombies. That idea as tempting as it sounds is discarded.

Looking around the area, the zombie by the elevators is the only one that I can see or am aware of. She will definitely see me when I dash for the cars. I need to move her so that I have a clear shot of her head.

The way she is standing in the shadows of the elevator shaft, I am not absolutely confident in my ability to hit her head. If this was a living person, and things were back as they were when I worked in the field, I would put two in her chest and call it done.

However with a zombie that would just put two messy holes in the zombie and waste two of my precious bullets. The Guardsmen told me that they were having a hard time getting the troops to remember to shoot the zombies in the head.

Many years of training the troops to shoot center of mass bites you in the ass (literally) when your opponent is fairly immune to bullets. Only a bullet (or anything else) that destroys the brain will kill these zombies.

Before the news stations ceased broadcasting and the power went out, we saw news footage of troops getting overrun by zombies. The troops were panicking and pouring thousands of rounds into the zombie’s torsos, which did little to slow the advance of the zombies.

I need to move this zombie so I have a good shot at her head. Making sure my pistol is ready; I step out from behind the parking ticket machine. Moving slowly, I step towards those boring white sedans walking backwards.

I can tell immediately from the change in the zombie’s body posture when she sees me. She goes rigid and immediately starts to walk towards me in the classic zombie shuffle. Seems like one of her ankles is broken, because she limps to the left and drags her left foot.

As the female Caucasian zombie gets closer I see that at one time she was a pretty bottle blonde with dark roots, dressed in a light blue suit. She was definitely a flight attendant; I can read her nametag now that she is closer to me; it reads “Hana.”

Seems Hana worked for United which explains the crisp, light powder-blue uniform. United had recently gone “retro” bringing back uniforms for its stewards. United took a lot of flak for the requirements that the stewards had to be HWP and at least five feet eight inches tall. I understand they got around the sexism charges by claiming that the stewards (the males had the same requirements) were models who also served the customers.

Hana zombie’s heels are little taller than I would want to wear in her profession. In those heels she must have been at least six foot tall. The way her tits stick out like a pair of watermelons even in death, she definitely had a Hollywood-special boob job.

I got to admit she did have nice legs, nicely displayed in a snug hip-hugging, just above the knees pencil skirt. That is until something snacked on her thighs and calves. The sight of the gaping, shredded flesh and naked bone is nauseating and all thoughts of coffee and beautiful women immediately flee my mind.

Human teeth are not the best tools to rend raw flesh, and seeing the aftermath on someone’s legs is nauseating. Strange that Hana’s upper body was unmolested. I wonder how Hana died? Maybe some place where the other zombies could only reach her legs.

As she gets close enough that I am sure that I cannot miss, I raise my pistol in one fluid move and put a single round between her hazel eyes just above her cute little button nose.

The cough of the AAC suppressor on the end of my pistol seems loud in this confined space. But not nearly as loud as the sound of the pistol’s action chambering another round. I hear the tinny sound of the empty brass cartridge casing striking the pavement to my right somewhere and rolling away.

I also see the black cloud of thick, congealed black blood explode out the back of her head and splatter all over the cement behind her with a wet splash. Interspersed in the black blood are startling white chunks of bone, chunks of blonde hair and grayish-blue chunks of brain.

Hana zombie’s expression never changes as the 9mm Federal Hydra-Shok round explodes through her brain. When the small, perfectly 9mm-sized circle appeared between her eyes she just folded up and collapsed at my feet like a puppet whose strings were cut.

I hope that Hana is at peace now. I mumble a quick prayer for her in Yiddish. It makes me feel better although probably does little for poor Hana. Leaving her corpse where it now lays, I duck quickly between the two boring white sedans.

I give a quick look around –shit it is dark in here! I want to wait a minute or two to see if shooting Hana zombie might have attracted more zombies.

I need to head farther down the rental car lines. It is not like I need a car to race the Daytona 500, but I need something that gets really good gas mileage and has enough cargo room for me to load it with supplies.

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3 Comments
  1. phil evans permalink

    this is a good read.
    innovative as a new genre from the distaff side of shtf-zombie fiction.
    too tedious, wooden, and slow at times.

  2. BobOK permalink

    Thanks for updating!
    Drooling for part#16!

    • I shall have it up in a couple of days. Editing now, and should be able to get more posts up as school winds down for the semester.

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