Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

Doug twisted the knob on the cellar door and nudged it open with his toe. Beyond the door, darkness. It reminded Miranda of a tomb, though their surroundings were hardly silent. It was noisier down here, closer to the zombies. They scratched against windows and walls. Those that spied Miranda and Doug as they made their way through the house moaned louder, which caused a ripple effect. Miranda shivered as she followed Doug into the black.

They made their way down, step by step. The beams of illumination from the lights on their assault rifles lit dust motes swirling on invisible currents. The cellar had been cleared earlier when they first stormed into the house, but they had been in one hell of a hurry. Musty air filled Miranda’s nostrils. Musty, but without the smell of death.

At the foot of the stairs, Doug went left, Miranda right. Her heart pounded as she checked the room—opening a closet, checking behind a washing machine. She relaxed as she called clear.

“I’m clear,” Doug answered. “The tanks are over here, just like Mike said.”

Miranda retraced her steps. Doug’s flashlight beam traveled along the wall, illuminating several propane tanks, the kind that used to be used with a gas grill. Doug picked a tank up off the floor a few inches.

“Empty,” he said, then tried another. “Much better,” he said. He lifted a third tank, then turned to her, a shit-faced grin lighting up his face. “This is gonna be fucking awesome.”

They moved the tanks so that they were under the hole in the wood floor above them, which Miranda and Doug had hastily hacked before entering the basement. Doug dropped to his knees and started fiddling with the valve on the less full tank.

“I just want to stick a pin in this one, let some of the propane out. It’ll pool on the ground but should still ignite.”

“Why? The grenade will ignite the tank.”

“I am cultivating multiple opportunities for success, Coppertop.”

Miranda snorted. “Cultivate faster. I want to get the fuck out of here.” She looked up at the hole they had cut in the floor. “We should make that hole bigger.”

“Why?”

“So we have a higher chance of success with those multiple opportunities you’re cultivating.”

Doug nodded. “Okay. Come hold the light for me. I can’t see shit.”

Doug’s usual good humor evaporated after a few minutes of fighting with a valve frozen shut for at least a decade. “Why the hell couldn’t they have stored these outside like normal people? Then we could just shoot the damn things and yes! Got it!”

Miranda heard a faint hiss as Doug stood up. She sniffed, the smell of gas filling her nostrils for the first time in years. Because of the nuclear reactor the valley relied on for much of its power, electricity had replaced gas-powered utilities.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said.

They emerged from the stairs slowly, in case zombies had broken in. They hustled to where Mike stood above them. He threw down the cable. Miranda pulled out her hatchet and began hacking at the hole they had made earlier.

Doug said, “You were right, it’s propane, a tank and a half. Just going to make the hole bigger so it’s easier to get the grenades down. Where are Connor and Mario?”

Miranda looked up. It was just Mike up there. She had been so focused on the task at hand that she had not noticed.

“They’re out on the roof. Seffie called—”

The clang of broken glass stopped Mike mid-sentence. Miranda stood up and whirled around to face the window behind her.

“Back door window, I’ve got it. Finish what you’re doing,” Doug commanded.

Miranda dropped back to her knees. Above, she heard Mike calling for Mario and Connor. The hatchet felt heavier in her hand, the blade duller, the Douglas Fir planks more substantial. Her burned palms felt sweaty and tender under the bandages, and her hand holding the hatchet began to throb, still sore from when she had punched Mario. The moans and groans got louder.

Another window cracked and broke.

Miranda hacked at four separate points about six inches apart until the gouges were an inch deep. She sprang to her feet and stomped with one foot. The wood cracked. She stomped again and it gave way. Not completely, but enough.

“Are they inside?” she yelled as she powered the hatchet down again.

“Just trying to block their path,” said Doug. “How you doing there?”

Another shot, then another.

“I need another minute,” Miranda said.

“That’s about all you’re gonna get.”

Doug’s rifle fired almost continuously. Then the world began to sparkle as bits of glass showered over her. Miranda flinched away and leaped up, turning once again to the window behind her. Zombies were trying to slither through. They cut their arms on jagged glass still stuck in the frame but did not stop. Zombies didn’t feel pain. They never even noticed.

Miranda wielded the hatchet high above her head, swinging down to smack through skull and eye sockets. Black goo splattered her face, her arms, her hands. Doug’s rifle fired nonstop.

“Mike, get us out of here!” Miranda shouted. She looked up. Mike was gone. “Mike!” she screamed, fighting against the panic that tried to fog her brain.

Doug worked his way to her, quick but methodical. He glanced up, then kept firing.

“Where the hell are they?”

Miranda dropped the hatchet. She pulled her assault rifle around from where it was slung across her back and fired.

“Miranda!”

Miranda looked up to see Mike and Connor and Seffie above, plus two other guys. Where the hell had they come from? She grabbed the cable and pushed it to Doug. He shook his head.

Miranda’s ascent was swift with so many pulling. As she crested the edge of the floor, she unclipped the cable and threw it back down. She scrambled, half crawling out of the way, and took the first hand extended down to help her up.

“You okay?” Apprehension filled Mario’s face.

Miranda nodded. “I’m good.”

She looked back to see one of the strangers catch Doug’s arm as the others pulled the cable. Giddy with relief, she leaned against the wall and grinned at