Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel by Perry Kivolowitz Page B

cold at night. Bringing our binoculars we
had a seat on the roof and looked west. In the dark under some cloud cover we
could see flashes and glows of orange across a broad swath of the horizon.
These filled enough of the horizon for us to know it couldn’t be just the three
Blackhawks we saw. There were other forces out there acting in concert.
    We couldn’t hear anything except the breeze.
Using the binoculars didn’t help. We could see only glows. Some changed
suddenly brighter or darker others just glowed. We watched for a while but did not
make out any details.
    The faint sound of the helicopters came upon us.
We could see three tiny dark holes moving against the glowing background. When
they were no longer backed by the glowing horizon we couldn’t see them at all
but we could hear them getting closer. Soon we could see three sets of dim running
lights blinking.
    When they neared, two kept moving east. One circled
slowly around the house.
    It was close enough to be really loud. We didn’t
dare raise a rifle in their direction so Ruth Ann detached its night scope and
raised just that to her eye. I knew that in their night vision gear we were
probably the brightest thing for miles around. The helicopter made a complete
circuit of the house and continued its way eastward.
    Ruth Ann said the helicopter was marked United
States Army and was one of the ones with the wings for weapons on its sides.
The side doors were closed but Ruth Ann could make out the shape of the pilot
examining us. Before they left, the pilot gave her a slow wave.

 
    W e didn’t go hunting on Sunday morning (Day 32),
as we had hoped. On checking the cameras, in addition to many agitated dead, we
saw something that rocked us back on our heels. There was a person lying
propped up on both elbows on the Boetche’s garage roof next to the IR emitter
we put up the day before. He had pulled up the ladder we left standing.
    We quickly dressed and rushed up to the roof
with our binoculars, both the carbine and hunting rifle and Ruth Ann’s bow.
Immediately upon opening the roof door we could hear the dead bellowing. We
kept out of sight. I poked up just high enough to look through the binoculars.
Ruth Ann did the same through the hunting rifle’s scope.
    We counted a baker’s dozen dead visible from our
vantage point. Presently a fourteenth staggered into view from around the
garage. Then a fifteenth appeared. And then still more. The person on the roof
was doomed unless we helped.
    The dead don’t scream like people. There were
almost no consonants in their noises, just long vicious vowels. The din was
continuous with each individual pausing only to draw in a resupply of air to
immediately force out again in the form of soulless scream. Even though it was
cold, no steam came from their exhales. They were just as cold as the air they
ejected.
    Through our glasses we could see what looked
like spit flying. It was probably bits of whatever was in their mouths because
we’ve never seen them drink anything but blood. They grabbed at the air but
could not gain purchase on the siding. Neither could they reach the garage’s
roof gutters. Even if they could they would probably just rip them down rather
than be able to use them to climb up.
    The person bundled up on the roof was safe for
the moment if he could keep himself relatively calm and do nothing stupid. The
thought of this reminded me of an old saying of something like “If you can keep
your calm while those around you…” go nuts or something. I added silently “you
must be on a roof surrounded by zombies.”
    “That’s Ryan,” Ruth Ann exclaimed.
    “Who?”
    “Ryan! Ryan Boetche. He used to mow our lawn for
shit’s sake.”
    “Oh yeah…”
    Ruth Ann was about to shout out to Ryan but I
stopped her.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “What do you mean “What am I doing?”. That’s our
neighbor’s kid. We have to help him.”
    “Just invite him in? What if he’s infected?