Most towns will have a water tower secured in a locked area or have the ladder only accessible with a cherry picker (those vehicles that extend out and are usually used for line repair). I was a dumb enough teenager to know that if I could have got up one of those monstrosities, I would have done so in a heartbeat. You got to figure that the townsfolk here figured out that little problem as well. I guess there are dumb teenagers everywhere. Oh yeah, and that doesn’t even bring into account those lovelorn folks that would pull a nosedive off the thing because Suzy or Sammie Rotten Crotch dropped them for someone else.
We’d make it to the tower ahead of our pursuers, but we were screwed if there was no way up. Now I was concerned.
“John, maybe we should find a house.”
“Ponch, I’m so thirsty.”
I was going to tell him that might be another reason not to go to the tower. I was relatively sure there would be no way to gain safe access to the inside. The zombies had caught sight of us, the pursuit was on. That many feet slapping against the pavement was an easy enough sound to hear as it reverberated off any available structure. Well…that, and there wasn’t so much as a lawn mower running anywhere in the country to drown out the noise. This was no longer the world of man. Yes, there were still some pockets of people left, but we weren’t living anymore, we were just trying not to die. Subtle difference in wording but a huge difference in meaning there. I started to track off of our present course.
“Trailer park. Of course it is,” I sighed. John was twenty yards away before I realized he wasn’t following me anymore. “John?”
He didn’t slow down. “Ponch, it’s like a desert in my mouth.”
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you smoke pot and eat enough salty snacks to keep Morton’s salt mines in operation.”
He had completely tuned me out and was like a guided missile that had already locked onto its target and nothing was going to dissuade it from its course of action. I looked back at the doublewide before picking up my pace to catch up with John. The thing would have caved in within hours with zombies pressing in, and I didn’t even want to dwell on what howlers could do to the tin can.
Would they work together? Would they even acknowledge each other?
If howlers were as mindless as zombies, they really wouldn’t give two shits about each other…only us.
“I guess the pink flamingos will have to wait,” I told John when I caught up.
“If I wasn’t so thirsty, I’d get them,” he said in all seriousness.
“They’ll be fine.”
I followed John for a couple of reasons. Primarily because I wasn’t going to let him wander too far off, and secondly, he had that luck. You know…that crazy fucking luck that some people are just born with. Like the baby that fell out of the third story window onto concrete only to land on a urine-soaked diaper. The gel material exploded like an over ripe melon under a car tire. The baby, however, besides trying to figure out how it had got to where it was, was completely unharmed. That’s the luck John had, and I wanted to be around him. It was going to be luck and a healthy dosing of lead injections that was going to get us out of this mess.
The fence leading into the water tower complex was down, it looked like someone had come in and stolen one of the maintenance trucks and, not having a key for the locked gate, had decided to just run the damn thing over.
Works for me, I thought.
We were on a concrete slab some hundred feet by hundred feet square, big enough to support the huge metal tank’s legs. I glanced quickly over to the ladder that led up, it was a good ten feet high. An NBA star would have a difficult time jumping high enough to grab the bottom-most rung. We were now in the world’s largest boxing ring, and this was a one round affair to the death.
“Shit,” I said, skidding to a halt past the downed fence.
I turned, got down on one knee, and started to drop our nearest and most immediate threat. Zombies were in high gear, having found another speed when they realized food was so near. Cracked lips were pulled back to reveal brown and black chipped teeth. Outstretched hands with fingernails caked in gore and blood reached out. Old, young, fat, slim, women, children, men—they all were coming towards us. Some dressed in business suits, others gym outfits, in a few cases there were pajama clad zombies and they were all headed our way. I rocked slightly as I fired; the beauty of the M-16 is its minimal kick. I was able to bring the barrel back down quickly to reacquire targets as I drenched the ground in gray gristle.
“Hold,” I told myself like a Revolutionary War sergeant would tell his ranks of green, unproven militia men. Much like then, to leave now meant death. “Hold,” I said as I dropped my empty magazine and shoved a new one in.
I lost precious seconds as I fumbled to find the bolt catch release. A quick tap on the forward assist and I was back in business. The zombies were close enough, I could hear them as their broken bodies collided with the ground and each other. I stood while I kept firing. They were close enough now that what I lost in my shooting stance was more than made up for in their proximity. I sincerely hoped John was going to make it as I held my ground…mostly. I found myself involuntarily stepping back at just about every shot. I dropped dozens with kill shots and a couple of scores more were hindered with devastating wounds. Those that didn’t get out of the way fast enough became stepping stones, the zombies merely finishing off what I had started.
“You coming?” John asked in between shots.
I didn’t have the luxury to answer or even turn around. He sounded like he was behind me by the base of the water tower. I had hoped he had bugged out or at least found somewhere to enjoy his last few moments.
“Screw it might as well die together,” I said as I turned and ran for it.
My surprise came when I didn’t immediately see John. It was entirely possible that his voice had echoed off of something and I hadn’t triangulated him correctly. Even more likely, I was so deaf from the shots that I couldn’t hear-place him at all. I elevated my gaze. I practically stopped when I realized he was fifteen feet up the side of the structure.
He had gotten up the ladder. How was that possible?
It was then that I saw it, like a desert mirage, a telescoping ladder was placed against the housing structure of the water tower ladder. I had a bunch of questions, but now was not the time to ask them as I sprinted for sanctuary. My heart was slamming in my chest, adrenaline burning through my muscles as I sought a speed I hadn’t felt since my high school football glory days. Provided I didn’t turn an ankle (errant fucking thought) I’d make that fucking ladder in all its height-defying glory.
“They’re right behind you!” John shouted.
If I dared divert any energy to anything other than my legs, I would have shouted, ‘Really? I would have never figured that out considering I can smell the stench of death and decay coming from their mouths they’re so fucking close.’ Instead, I wisely kept pumping my legs on for a ladder that would not get close quick enough. I hit it so hard that I almost toppled the damn thing. That would have been rich with safety so close. I was halfway up, or five feet in the air, when zombies slammed into the ladder as well. I reached up a couple of rungs from the top, and with my trailing leg, I jumped. I knew how this was going to play out. The ladder was falling away from me as I was launching myself skyward. Unfortunately, I was more like a North Korean rocket than an American missile. I was going to fall inches short of my desired destination.