A New Death (Savannah's Only Zombie Novel) (5 page)

“I just wish this day was over,” he whispered.

He was just about to doze off when he heard gun shots coming
from outside.

The sleep vanished as Jeremy jumped up to his feet. He ran
over to the window, to try and see what was going on outside. From where he was
positioned in the house, he could only see a large pickup truck. It was one of
those jacked up, big mud tire, bubba-kinda trucks. From what he could make out,
there was one bubba in the driver’s seat and two others standing in the bed of
the truck. The two in the back were both holding guns. Jeremy was fairly
confident that the one driving probably had a gun on him too.

He moved to the front door to get a better look.

Maybe they’re hunting zombies.

Hunting zombies. The thought sent shivers down Jeremy’s
spine.

Is that how it’s gonna be? No longer are people going to
hunt animals for sport, but the living dead?

The thought was sick. But at least they were getting rid of
them. Making it safer. He wasn’t sure if it was that thought that made him go
outside or the fact that they were living people. Actual living people. What
was he going to do? Tell the living people to leave the living dead people
alone? He had already killed several of them, who was he to tell them not to?

As he stepped outside though, he realized that they were not
after zombies. Hiding and crouched down behind a car was a single black man.

“Hey nigger,” one yelled. “We got sumthin’ to tell you.”

“Yeah boy,” the other chimed in. “Come on out now. We can do
this all civilized. Or not.”

The two men laughed as Jeremy watched on in horror.

“Hey boy! My buddy’s talkin’ to you!” the first one yelled.

Jeremy could see that Bubba #1 was holding a hunting rifle
in one hand and a half-empty bottle of bourbon in the other. Not a good
combination for a bunch of racist hicks. These were the kinda guys that gave
southerners a bad name as dumb, white-trash rednecks.

The guy behind the car did not budge and Jeremy didn’t blame
him. He knew they didn’t want to just “talk.” Bubba #2 was holding a
camouflaged shotgun. Things could go very badly, very quickly. So, Jeremy did
what any sane person would do in that situation.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could even
think of an appropriate response. The three bubbas and even the guy behind the
car all looked at Jeremy as if he was the crazy one.

Tough crowd.

“Go back inside rich boy,” Bubba #1 said. “This don’t
concern you.”

“I don’t live here,” Jeremy answered. “Why don’t y’all leave
him alone?”

He thickened his accent a little to try and create a
language bridge between them. It seemed to work as they pondered it for a
moment. But Jeremy realized these were not the bridge building type of men when
Bubba #2 pumped a round into his weapon.

“Don’t think we’ll be doin’ that. Now go on and git back
inside. Go on now,” he said very calmly.

It was the unsettling kind of calm. The kind you feel right
before some serious doo doo is about to hit the fan. Jeremy looked over to the
black guy. The guy looked directly back at him.

“Just go,” the man mouthed.

It was at that point where Jeremy began to feel the rage
build back up in him. The same rage he felt at the supermarket and in his
driveway. This was not right. He could not let them do this. The rage began to
seep into his bloodstream, his muscles tightening, and his jaw clenched.

Zombie apocalypse or not, this is wrong.

The only problem was this: they had guns. He had a
screwdriver.

Screw it.

“Y’all are gonna have to leave. Now,” Jeremy said, just as
calmly as Bubba #1 had.

Bubba #2 fired his gun into the warm night’s air. All three
men began to let out whoops and hollers. Bubba #1 took a swig from the bourbon.

“Woo doggie! This boy has some balls,” he yelled out.

And that was when they heard the moans.

Oh, shit…

The gunshots and noise had attracted the dead. Moans and
groans came from every direction. Perhaps the neighborhood was not as empty as
Jeremy had thought. The bubbas were locking and loading, getting ready for the
oncoming dead attack. Driver Bubba got out of the truck and was holding some
kind of long barreled revolver. Jeremy noticed the guy behind the car start to
stand up from his hiding spot, but still staying low enough to the ground in
case the rednecks turned their attention back to him.

The first of the zombies began to shamble out from every
direction. Ten of them, easy. And more were beginning to trickle in. Jeremy was
right. This neighborhood was not empty at all.

“Alright boys,” Bubba #1 shouted to his friends. “Let’s kill
sum zombies!”

Before they could fire a shot, a new sound filled the night.
Not a moan or grunt that was accustomed to the living dead, but this time a
piercing shriek. It was a higher pitch, raspy, and sounded forced through
decaying vocal cords. This was something else. This was something new.
Something worse.

The rage that Jeremy had begun to feel just moments ago was
long gone now. The only thing that filled him now was fear. Fear of what
horrible thing made a sound like that.

They came quick. These zombies weren’t shambling and
stumbling over their feet like their other dead brothers. No, these were
running at full speed, agile. There were four of them, but Jeremy wasn’t so
concerned with how many of them there were compared to how they looked.

The other zombies always looked dead. Grey skin, dull eyes,
and some were more decayed than others. Not these freaks. Their skin still had
a pink tinge to it; their eyes bloodshot. As opposed to the congealed,
coagulated blood of the normal zombies, these new infected had dark-red blood
dripping from their mouths. Jeremy watched as one coughed and hacked as it ran,
a chunk of brownish-red meat shooting out from its lungs.

The Bubbas opened fire. They were obviously unaware of the
whole headshot thing. Either that or they were just really poor shots. Just
blasting away, the runner zombies ran full sprint into the gunfire. One jumped
onto a nearby car, and then leapt again, propelling itself through the air at
Bubba #2. It was easily twenty feet. Impossible for a normal human being. These
were no longer normal human beings.

Unfortunately for Bubba #2, who was mid-reload, the jumper
hit him like a sack of bricks. It began to tear, not bite like the others,
chunks of flesh off the man. Bubba #1 turned his rifle on the infected and by
chance shot it directly in the head. It dropped cold.

Thank God they still die when you shoot them in the head.

Bubba #1 did not last very long as another two runners
tackled him and knocked him off the bed of the truck. Jeremy heard the
sickening crack of bone. The rather large redneck’s fall made his femur snap
and poke through his leg. He didn’t seem to notice the leg injury as he was
being torn to shreds by the runners.

Jeremy looked at the guy hiding, motioning for him to run to
the house. He did, pushing a shambler out of the way to do so. When he got to
the door, Jeremy swung it open and they both ran inside. They didn’t stick
around to see what happened to Driver Bubba. Judging by the gunshots and
screams, he didn’t make it.

As soon as they were inside, Jeremy spun around and closed
the door. He locked the deadbolt, the doorknob and the extra security lock his
dad had installed on the door, both men slumped against the door.

Jeremy looked over at the guy. He was African American,
probably early thirties, wearing a nice button-down shirt, and some tan khakis.
He was wearing what looked like dress shoes, not the kind you would want to run
in.

He was probably at work when everything went down. Man, I’m
glad I got to change clothes.

“Jeremy,” Jeremy whispered, holding out his hand.

“Ben.”

Ben also reached his hand out and the two shook hands.
Jeremy nodded and took a deep breath. Ben seemed like a good guy so far.

It might be a good idea to hang together, but we’ll have
to chit-chat later. Right now we gotta get this door more secure
, Jeremy
thought.

He stood up and walked over to the love seat and motioned
towards the door. Ben stood up and walked over to him and the couch, and both
pushed it in front of the door. As soon as they did, there was a slam against
the door.

The runners had finished with the Bubbas. Jeremy knew it was
the runners, which is what he was calling the new type of zombie, because of
the screams. Not moans. He almost missed the moans. Others began to beat on the
door. The wooden door cracked. It was not going to last long.

“We have to get out of here,” Ben said. “Is there a safe
back door?”

Jeremy motioned towards the kitchen.

“Through the kitchen. The garage.”

Ben nodded and motioned with his head that they should get
going. They quickly moved through the kitchen, Jeremy only stopping to grab his
father’s keys off the counter.

When they got to the garage, it was dark. Jeremy went to
turn on the lights but Ben stopped him. He shook his head and pulled out something
from his pocket. It was lighter. He flicked it on and the small flame gave them
enough light to see why Jeremy stopped to grab the keys. His father’s jeep.

Another one of his father’s many toys. A brand new,
four-door, jet black Jeep Wrangler. And just like its owner, it was fully
loaded with a bunch of crap. They both got in and buckled up. Safety first.

“What size shoe do you wear?” Jeremy asked.

“What? Why?”

Jeremy reached into the back seat and pulled out his
father’s gym duffle bag. He pulled out a pair of practically new running shoes.
His dad probably used them twice.

“These are an eleven. Will that work for you?”

Ben nodded and took the shoes, quickly putting them on.

“Ready?” Jeremy asked.

“As ready as I can be,” Ben replied.

Jeremy hit the garage door opener. As soon as the door
cleared, Jeremy threw it in reverse and backed out into the drive. A few
shamblers were on the driveway, but no runners. Jeremy began to drive towards
the street. He swerved around the first zombie, but nicked the second. It let
out a moan as the jeep bumped it. It was answered with shrieks. The runners
noticed the jeep. There were two of them and they broke out into full sprint
towards the jeep.

“Go! Go! Go!” Ben screamed.

Jeremy floored it and hit the third zombie head on. Speed
bump. He took off down the street, the runners trailing behind. Something else
grabbed their attention and they took off down another street. Ben let out a
deep breath.

“Sweet Jesus,” he said.

The two men rode in silence as they passed through the
neighborhoods leading into town. The appearance of this new type of zombie had
really shaken them. As if the slow, dumb shamblers weren’t dangerous enough,
now you have these dead, free running freaks to deal with. Both men knew the odds
were now greatly stacked against them.

Before, they could just have been avoided, or at least
out smarted,
Jeremy thought.
But now these crazy mofos? This is not
good…

The future did seem bleaker. They had no weapons to defend
themselves against these runners, with the exception of Jeremy’s screwdriver.
And he did not want to get close enough to use that thing.

“We’re going to need to find some kind of weapons,” Jeremy
said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Ben replied. “I had a baseball bat, but I lost it
when I was running from those deranged rednecks.”

“I had a machete. Got stuck in a zombie’s head.”

“Zombies?” Ben asked. “You mean like in the movies?”

“Yeah, that’s what these things are right?” Jeremy asked in
reply. “I mean, they sure do act like them. I haven’t seen many zombie movies,
never really was into that kinda stuff, but dead coming back to life and eating
the living? That seems like zombies to me.”

Ben shook his head.

“But those are the movies man. Fiction. This can’t be real,”
he said.

Jeremy did not know what to think. He hadn’t really had a
chance to stop and think about it. If these things were not zombies, then what
were they? Sick people? If they were just sick people, then when Jeremy killed
them… He couldn’t think about that.

“Whatever they are, we are going to need something to defend
ourselves. Especially if there’s more of those crazy, jumper ones,” Jeremy
said.

“Yeah. What were those?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s different types of zombies. Or
maybe they’re evolving or something.”

“Alright, so where do we go?” Ben said, nodding. “I can tell
you that any local gun shop will be crawling with rednecks. And if it’s not,
then it’s empty. Just trust me on that one.”

“Is that where you ran into those guys?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah. Apparently, there are too many black people with guns
and they thought they’d even it out. You know how many
niggers
were
there? One. Me.”

Jeremy could only shake his head. One of the great things
about the South. Where the racism wasn’t blatantly obvious, it was quietly
lurking in the shadows.

“You have to be careful on
that
side of town.”

“What is wrong with
those
people?”

Jeremy had heard it all. Especially the older white women on
the island. They had no problem with sharing their opinions on everything. But
rednecks, man, you gotta love the rednecks. It was like they were trapped in
their own little country-bumpkin world. And what drove Jeremy insane was that
so many people chose to live that way. There were kids at school who would act
all backwoods, but he knew they lived on the islands, in houses on deep water.
It just made no sense to him. To be fair though, it was not as if just white
people were the only racist ones. Everybody was kind of racist in the south.

“Can I tell you something,” Ben said, interrupting Jeremy’s
thoughts on racism in the south. “I’m adopted. You know by who? White folks.
Yup. Man, I grew up in the country! I was probably more country than those
rednecks! I didn’t grow up in no ghetto, listening to gangsta rap and drinking forties.
I grew up out past Rincon, listening to George Jones and Skynyrd, and drinking
sweet ass tea!”

“Ass tea?” Jeremy asked with a coy smile. “That sounds
gross.”

Ben looked at the 19 year old with a brief dumbfounded look,
but then cracked a smile, and both men burst into laughing. They laughed for a
good minute, something they had not done in a while. It felt good to laugh.
Everything was beginning to seem so bleak; it was nice to know that there were
still some funny things in the world. Like “ass tea.”

Jeremy stopped when they got to Montgomery Crossroads. If it
was clear of any traffic it would give them a straight shot across Savannah’s
Southside. As far as he could see in the dark, it looked clear. Maybe they
would get lucky. But Jeremy knew that they would have to be extremely lucky to
get across town with no problems.

There was a Super Wal-Mart not far from where they were. If
there was something they needed, then that was the place they would find it.

“How about Wally World?” Jeremy asked.

“You don’t hunt much do you?”

“No, but I play a lot of paintball.”

The older man chuckled at this.

“Paintball, huh? Well, I don’t know how paintballs are
selling nowadays, but gun ammo is scarce. Especially at ol’ Wally World. And
that was before all of this happened.”

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, when our government started cracking down on guns,
ammo sales went through the roof, and the demand quickly swallowed up the
supply. We might not find any guns there either. But maybe we’ll find something
else. Like tools or something. Let’s try it.”

Jeremy nodded and put the jeep back in drive. The thought of
finding a replacement machete was on Jeremy’s mind. It would be nice to have
one that wasn’t covered in rust too. There would also be food there. That
yogurt did absolutely nothing for him. All this running around and bashing
people’s heads in was beginning to wear on Jeremy physically. His body ached.

Turning into the parking lot, they both realized they made a
huge error. The first thing that caught their eyes was that the building was on
fire. Not a good sign. The view of the building from the road had been blocked
by the trees, and in the dark of night, they did not see the smoke billowing
from the rooftop.

The second thing that caught their attention was the large
crowd of dead standing in the parking lot. There must have been
twenty-something of them standing there. All of them had their arms up blocking
the light from the fire, but yet they all lacked the common sense to walk away
from it. Whatever little common sense this group of people once had, was now
long gone out the window.

“I think we should probably go somewhere else,” Ben said.

“I think you are on to something,” Jeremy replied.

He began to back the Jeep back down the road they drove in on.
Ben motioned towards the lights, and Jeremy quickly shut them off in order to
not attract any unwanted attention. Once back out on the road, he turned them
back on and they slowly made their way down Montgomery Crossroads.

The street lights were still on in this area as well, so
that must have meant there was still power here too. Jeremy assumed it would be
a matter of time before the power did shut off, but he was thankful for it
while they had it. More than likely, the workers at the power plants and Power
Company would care more about their own families and not so much about keeping
the electricity pumping.

“There. That hardware store,” Ben said, pointing off to the
left.

There was a small, locally owned hardware store. It looked
vacant and there were no visible zombies around. Of course, that did not mean
that there wasn’t any lurking around in the shadows. Jeremy pulled the Jeep
into the store’s parking lot and shut the engine off. It was quiet.

“Do you think it’s safe?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know,” Ben answered. “Looks empty. And I don’t see
any dead. I doubt that a store like that has firearms, but maybe we can find
some tools to use as weapons.”

He paused and then smiled.

“Anything would be better than what we have now.”

Jeremy nodded. He too didn’t like the idea of having no
protection, especially with those crazy freaks running around now. He reached
for the door handle and slowly opened it. There was a faint click. No zombies.
Ben reached for his handle and just as slowly opened it.

They both walked up to the store, watching over their shoulders.
The windows had been boarded up, but you could see light escaping through the
cracks. Power was still on in the store. Whether or not anybody was inside was
another thing.

Jeremy reached out for the door and looked to Ben. Ben
nodded and Jeremy proceeded to pull open the door. It was unlocked. They both
stepped in, pulling the door shut behind them. Ben quickly locked it and then
he gave Jeremy a nod.

“Hello?” Jeremy called out, his voice loud enough for
someone to hear him, but still quiet enough to not draw any unwanted attention
from outside.

“Is anybody in here?”

Please don’t answer.

Only silence. The men looked at each other and seemed to
“telepathically” say, “It’s clear.” Sighs of relief. Jeremy really was not
ready for another fight. He was tired. And hungry. Maybe there would be some
beef jerky somewhere. Anything sounded appetizing right now.

As he wandered off down one of the aisles, the first item
that looked like a good weapon was a crowbar. Black iron and heavy, he was sure
the claw end could do some damage if needed. He gave it a practice swing and
grinned.

It’ll do.

Meanwhile, Ben was picking up a simple claw hammer. His
tool’s claw was similar to Jeremy’s, yet not as heavy and much more maneuverable.
If anything popped out, he would be ready to bring that claw down on its skull.
When he reached the end of the aisle, Jeremy was standing there with crowbar in
hand.

“Let’s make sure the building is clear first and then we’ll
go shopping,” Ben said.

They walked around the perimeter of the aisles, carefully
looking down each one. When they came full circle, another sigh of relief was
given. The store was empty.

“Alright, let’s go shopping!” an excited Ben said.

“Heck yeah. I saw a new machete to replace my old one. It
didn’t even have any rust on it!” Jeremy answered.

The grown men took off like kids in the candy store. After a
few minutes, they both returned back up front, goodies in tow. Jeremy found a
garden buggy and filled it with his loot. Ben walked back up with hands full.

“Oh, buggy was a good choice,” Ben said upon seeing Jeremy’s
little red wagon.

“Yup. I like to be resourceful,” Jeremy said with a grin.

“Well, what do you think about this then?” Ben asked,
holding up a hatchet.

“Pretty good, but I’d rather stick with the machete though,”
Jeremy replied.

He held up a twenty-two inch, carbon steel blade machete.
The blade was jet black and had a rubber grip. Jeremy gave it a twirl and set
it down on the counter next to the crowbar he found earlier.

“Not only did I find the hatchet, but I found his big
brother too,” said Ben.

He held up your standard axe. Wooden handle and a red axe
head. It looked like the kind a fireman would carry.

“Do they have ones without wood handles?” Jeremy asked. “The
wood ones might break easier. You know?”

Ben nodded, snapped his fingers, and walked down one of the
aisles. He returned with a different axe. This one had a yellow handle made out
of tough fiberglass. It also had a black axe head, which looked similar to
Jeremy’s machete blade. Probably made from the same material.

After raiding a knife cabinet and relieving it of some
hunting knives, Jeremy noticed that Ben had a concerned look on his face. He
still seemed uneasy, despite that they now had some decent weapons.

“What’s up man?” Jeremy asked.

Ben turned and looked towards the back of the store.

“Did you notice the door in the back,” he asked.

Jeremy did see the door earlier, but didn’t get too close to
it, because Ben had already checked that part of the store. He had not thought
about it until Ben brought it up.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Well,” Ben started. “It’s probably just a storage area. We
haven’t checked it out yet. But I could kind smell something bad coming from
behind the door.”

“We’ve got weapons now. You wanna check it out?” Jeremy
said.

“We probably should. One of those things could be back
there.”

Jeremy nodded in agreement and grabbed his machete off the
counter. Ben picked up his axe and both began to walk towards the door. Jeremy
began to feel the adrenaline again. It was not the unsettling feeling of “the
rage”, but it was better than nothing.

The door was closed, but a light could be seen underneath
the door crack. Jeremy looked at Ben before reaching out for the door knob. Ben
raised his axe and gave Jeremy the nod to open it.

“One, two, three,” Jeremy mouthed, before swinging the door
open.

The room was empty except for all the supplies. There was
food, soda, more tools, and gardening chemicals. They walked in to see that it
was a small treasure trove of snack food and carbonated beverages.

“Is this heaven?” Jeremy asked, starting to walk towards a
box of candy bars.

Ben grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back and
pointed to the back corner of the room. Slightly hidden behind the mountain of
junk food, Jeremy saw two bodies slumped up against the wall. A man and a
woman, both wearing matching aprons with the store name on it. Both were
holding a pistol and both had a bullet hole directly in the middle of their
foreheads.