“But
you!
You’re
the one who escaped! Those guards who let you go? Oh, they were hung, gassed, beaten. They were unrecognizable when I got through with them.”
Washburn paced around the room, thinking. He continued “Dan, I needed some
one to blame for all of this! I needed a scapegoat – some cheese dick who I could pin it all on. I didn’t want the survivors of the world to know that the reason behind it all was because my wife cheated on me. I mean, I had men chasing you all over the fucking United States and then…who would ever guess that you would meet up with my fucking wife! Imagine the possibilities!”
Bart pointed to Liz’s caved in body. “She was your
wife?
”
“You murdered
my wife
in cold blood you son of a bitch,” I said still crying.
“Well this all needs to be erased now,
doesn’t it. I’m going to kill you now. I’ll come out a hero. I’ll be the one who killed the carrier of the virus who killed 95% of mankind.”
Bart, open-mouthed, said “So you’re telling me that this whole virus and the end of the world
was done because your wife
cheated
on you? And you wanted to get revenge on her by killing her lover?”
“Yep.
That’s pretty much it.”
“But what about the zombies?”
He asked.
“It was a
fluke
,” Washburn said shrugging. “It was an unseen consequence.”
“The whole world is gone,” Bart said. “How many people died over your problems with you and your
wife?
That’s fucked up.”
“It’s done now,” Washburn said. “Once this man is dead, we will arise as heroes.”
“Heroes of what? A dead world?”
“Heroes of the military.
They will bend their knees to me
.”
“To
you
? You’re nothing but a fucking loser.”
“Trenton…
”
“It’
s Bart you whiny little bitch!” Bart hollered as he shoved the tenderizing fork which was still in his bloodied hand deep into and out the back of Washburn’s stomach.
Washburn was totally surprised. He stooped forward due to the pain.
As he stabbed the Lieutenant, Bart reached with his left hand onto the table for the large knife. Awkwardly he sliced Washburn’s throat. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it hit the jugular vein straight on.
Blood squirted out of Washburn’s neck.
Bart screamed at him, then stabbed him again and again as he fell to the floor. “All over your wife? You killed the world because she cheated on you? You son of a bitch!”
I looked at Mindy as Bart was cutting Washburn to pieces. She hung there. Her lower body was slicked with blood. Her head was down. Blood was no longer gushing out of her, only dipping now. One of her arms had fallen out of the hoist and now dangled at her side.
Bart stood up. He faced me.
“Wait!”
I said. “We can talk this through!”
“There’s nothing to talk about here. This needs to end.”
Bart had a wild look in his eyes.
Out of the co
rner of my eye, I saw movement.
Still tied up, I managed to stand
. I hopped back away from him.
“Get over here!” he hollered.
Someone grabbed him from below. It was Liz. She had returned from the dead. Bart shrugged her off. “Get off me you whore!” He jammed the tenderizing fork down into her face. She went down.
I
hopped back a little further.
Pulling the tenderizing fork out of Liz’s face, Bart turned toward me. He came at me slowly, now between Mindy and I.
“Get over here you son of a bitch!” He sneered as he raised the fork to stab me.
Then he stopped. He stood there,
motionless. The fork dropped out of his hand and clattered to the cement. The glare left his eyes.
He fell forward onto his face.
Mindy hung behind him, the filet knife in her one free hand. She had stabbed him in the back of the neck, through his throat, with the knife that he had stabbed into her thigh.
“Oh fuck!” I hollered. “Mindy you’re still alive!”
“Get me down, Dan,” she said hoarsely.
I spun around. “Cut my ties.”
She cut them slowly, painfully. I felt my hands go free.
“Watch out,” she says, barely above a whisper.
Washburn came stumbling toward me, his hands reaching for me.
Quickly, I grabbed the filet knife out of Mindy’s weak hand. I jammed the knife deep into Washburn’s eye. His whole face was covered in a dark bruise.
When Washburn was gone, I hopped over to the hoist control.
I let Mindy down.
She fell to the floor, weak, barely bleeding any more. Her blood had almost all ran out.
I fell down next to her, scooted closer, held her head in my arms.
“Baby,” I said. “Oh Mindy…”
She smiled a weak half smile, “My hand got free. It slipped out.”
“You saved me,” I said, crying.
“Our baby,” she whimpered.
I put my head on her chest. Slowly shook my head no.
“I want to see him,” she said quietly.
I cut the ties from my feet, and got our baby from the table. I saw him in there – tiny - tiny fingers and toes. I lay back down with Mindy. “It’s a little boy,” I whispered to her.
“
Our boy
,” she says, tears running down her cheeks, a hint of a smile.
“What’s his name?” I ask, my tears rolling harder now.
She looks at me, her eyes beginning to glaze over.
“
Mason
,” she whispers.
“Mindy I love
you
,” I said.
A small smile on her lips, fading.
“I don’t want to be like them,” she says. “
Dan…please don’t let… me be like them
…”
“
Don’t go,”
I beg her quietly, crying. “
Don’t go, Mind…”
“I love you, Dan…
”
Her eyes remain open.
I stay with her, staring at her eyes, her beauty.
Crying, I close her eyes for her.
Her long blonde hair, splayed out around her head.
A bruise, barely noticeable at first, begins to form along her hairline.
She comes back, slowly.
I couldn’t and wouldn’t let her be like t
hem.
Sitting on the beach by the Gulf, hearing ocean
waves crash on the shore.
It’s only my imagination.
There is no ocean.
It is quiet.
Boats lie crooked on the sand.
In the distance I can see la
rge ships lying on their sides.
Barges.
Ocean liners.
Metal gleaming in the setting sun.
About the Author
R. M. Smith lives in Kansas with his wife Karen and their dog Tater-Tot. He is a co-owner of a steel business.
Currently, Mr. Smith is working on a new novel titled The Wicked Game.