Lisa stood and turned and looked him in the eye with a smile. “Because you saved my life, I won’t kill you.”
“What?” He was laughing hard. “I didn’t do anything!”
Ana chided, “You said I couldn’t laugh at her because she’s fat.”
“Now you’re talking? And smiling?” He was still laughing.
Lisa feigned shock but smiled. “You think I’m fat? Is it these pants? These pants make me look fat, right?”
Both girls were looking at him. Cooper was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face. He had trouble catching his breath.
“Not fair. Not fair. I never used the word fat.” He gasped. “You two are terrible. I wasn’t laughing at you.” He pointed at Lisa. “I was laughing at her.” He pointed at Ana.
“OK, OK, we tortured him enough,” Lisa said. “Let’s go, kid.” She took Ana’s hand.
18.
Ron hung by one arm, his legs dangling below him, swinging in thin air. Straining to keep himself from falling, he looked from the gaping hole beneath him back to the cargo that blocked his way back into the van. He only had one choice.
Shit, I'll have to try and climb up to the roof
.
He was holding on to the rear door with one hand. The sharp metal of the uncovered door panel hurt like hell. He reached up with his other hand and grabbed the metal and pulled himself up, but there was nowhere to put his feet. He lowered himself gently so the metal edge wouldn’t slice into his hand. He had to let go with the hand closest to the inside of the van and reach over to another handhold on the door. He was able to get his foot onto the bumper and get a better grip on the top of the door. The dead were close to the rear of the van and were reaching for him. He grabbed hold of a stack of lumber strapped to the roof and prayed it didn’t break free as he hung on it to climb up and onto the roof.
Once on the roof, he could see that the cargo was caught on the metal lip of the van’s floor. He rubbed his bruised neck, confused about his feelings. As loathsome as the bastards were that tried to hang him, he was feeling guilt over what he had done.
Nonsense
, he told himself,
they had it coming
. Donna…he didn’t even want her to know. It would just upset her. But how to explain his neck?
But worst of all, they were still out there. He was worried about that more than anything. No chance they would just let it go and move on. He would never be at peace with those three out there. He would have to tell the others when he had the chance. He would talk it over with Sal first.
“Hey. You OK up there?” Sal shouted, worried about Ron as he had no way of checking on him and he’d been quiet for some time.
“Yeah.” Ron wanted to save the precious cargo if possible, especially after what they had gone through to get it. He watched as the number of dead raining into the hole decreased. The sky was lighter in the east; dawn was only moments away. In the faint but growing light he could see that the lot was thinning out. There was still a handful of the dead around the van, reaching for Ron, slapping to get at Sal through the glass.
Ron cautiously moved about on the roof, staying toward the middle of the van, never taking his eyes off the dead that were within inches of him. If not for the added cargo lashed to the roof, they would have gotten to him. He stuck his head down from the roof in the center of the rear door so he could talk to Sal.
“Hey, they are thinning out. I think we can make a run for it.”
“Where will we run to?”
Ron pulled his head back up and stood on the roof. He looked around the large lot. The closest place to run would be the parking structure, but he didn’t want to lead the dead there. The next closest thing was the office park. The dead seemed to be coming mostly from the nearby highway. He stuck his head back into the van.
“It looks like the safest place to go would be the office park over there. We’ll have to fight through a little bit, but I think we’ll be OK.”
Sal agreed.
“You ready?” Ron was looking around, planning his exit strategy. “We need weapons,” he said, assuming Sal could hear him.
“Ahead of you.”
Ron heard the door pop open and saw Sal’s head. The growls and hisses of the dead intensified as they attacked Sal. Ron heard what could only be a head splitting open, a sound he’d heard too many times already, and then he was dropping to the ground. He landed right in front of a corpse that saw him coming.
The corpse grabbed at him, and Ron kicked it in the groin. He was aiming for the gut, but his stiff legs stopped short of his goal. The dead fell back, and Ron took the spare moment to reach for the hammer Sal held out to him. He took it by the handle and immediately used it to brain a shambling corpse that was upon him. It reached for him, arms stripped of flesh, the head red and raw as if it too were stripped of flesh. The hands, almost skeletal, had ahold of his shoulders. It was a disturbing sight, and he made an awkward swing that cracked the pate but didn’t drop the corpse. There were more behind it. Ron lashed out with both hands to get it away, but it held on. One of the arms tore loose and dropped to the ground; the other held on to Ron. The corpse was clacking its teeth, straining to get its mouth closer to Ron’s neck. Suddenly it dropped. Sal had brained it from behind. There were two more to take its place, but this time Ron was ready and quickly dropped a nude man with a blow to the head and then a woman, probably attractive when alive, who had innards hanging from between her legs. Her breasts were slashed opened, flaps of skin hanging and her ribs visible, and her eyes were very wide open. It looked as if her lids had been torn off. Ron dropped her quickly too, and then there were more.
Sal had several corpses at his feet. He slipped in black brain matter that oozed from large holes and split skulls. He had wet and nasty gore all over him, and his lips were pressed tightly shut. Something wet hit him across the face almost every time he struck. He was pulverizing corpses and the gore flew everywhere. He was smashing skulls two at a time. In one hand he held a small sledgehammer and in the other a standard construction hammer that matched Ron’s. When Sal hit a deadhead with the small sledge, it was usually straight down and the head exploded like a melon, bursting filth and juices from every crack and opening. Teeth rattled to the ground and eyes popped from sockets. He kicked out at one corpse of a heavy man to slow the onslaught of the dead and used the smaller hammer to bash a child on top of the head. Sal winced. He hated doing this, but it was life or death. He held the smaller hammer sideways so it wouldn’t get stuck in the skull. He almost lost it the first few whacks when he drove it into a skull too deep. An obese woman came at him and tripped. She was trying to bite his legs. He stomped her head almost flat. He hit an old man coming at him on top of the head. He’d had his tongue out, and when Sal hit him he bit it off and it landed on Sal’s arm. He turned to see Ron getting swarmed by more zombies than he could handle and cracked a few heads. It was much easier when they were facing away.
“We need to start making our way to the park,” Ron said as he cracked the skull of a young man. He hated this, looking at the dead faces and smashing them with a hammer or fireplace poker or baseball bat. The worst was the kids. Cracking the head of a small child open just didn’t sit right with him. It had made him choke up at first. Now he just hated it. He thought of this because a little boy, no more than six, was coming at him, hands out. He was filthy and was wearing Batman underwear. Half his head looked cheese-grated, as if he’d been dragged down the street on his head.
Without saying a word, Sal started pushing forward at a quick pace, sometimes giving the dead a kick to the gut that sent them flying backward, knocking one or more down in the process. Or he would smash a skull and use his thick arm to launch the body backward to the same effect. Ron was more methodical, quickly sizing up the greatest threat and taking it out. He was behind Sal and had an easier time of dropping the dead. He was watching the big man’s back, he told himself to feel better about hiding behind him.
They easily outpaced the dead that followed, and there were fewer and fewer threats coming at them. Soon Ron was walking next to Sal, taking out the ones on his left.
“Over there.” Sal motioned with a hammer covered in wet slaughter. His arm was just as covered and made hammer and arm look as one. He was pointing at a loading dock. There were several objects they could use to get onto the roof.
A quick climb up a Dumpster and with help from a windowsill, the roof was easy to access. Once in a safe place, they could feel their bodies letting go. With the fear of death by mastication no longer a threat, they could barely stand. They checked the roof quickly and then sat on a low metal box that crumpled a little under their weight. In the growing morning light, they sat in silence for a few moments.
“What a night,” Ron said low and flat, flicking bits from his arms. He was covered and gave up the futile pursuit.
Sal saw a fingernail in Ron’s hair but didn’t say a word. He probably had the same or worse in his. “Yeah,” was his only response. He was looking at the trees that grew in the park. They had a smell he loved, but some hated it. He was thinking about his wife, his family and friends, his home, all the things he had lost. He wondered why he was still here on earth, why he didn’t just end it all.
Ron was looking at the ground in front of him. “Man, I don’t want to tell Donna about what happened, but I have to.”
Sal was silent. He heard Ron but was lost in his own thoughts. They were both exhausted and probably hungry, but being covered in pulverized corpse made eating a less urgent goal.
“I’m feeling bad about what I did to those bikers too.”
“I understand. I’ll drive you back so you can apologize,” Sal said flatly as he attempted humor.
Ron smiled a little. “I need to apologize to the group, not to them. I’m worried that all I did was put those psycho scumbags on our trail. I can’t rest knowing they’re out there.” He pulled what appeared to be a ligament from Sal’s shoulder. “Sorry, that was bothering me.”
“In that case, hold still.” Sal picked the fingernail off Ron’s head.
“There’s no more justice system or police force. Are we supposed to take matters into our own hands?” Ron was thinking out loud as much as talking to Sal. “I don’t want to look over my shoulder, worry about Donna and our people, wait for them to find us or for us to run into them somewhere.”
“You saying we hunt them down? Kill them first?” Sal asked, nonjudgmental, sounding as if he would support Ron either way.
“I don’t know, but we have to deal with them sooner or later. We have to tell everyone everything. I want to tell Donna first, alone. Then we can tell the group.”
Sal nodded. “We should get going then.” He stood and they left the way they had come. Climbing down to the Dumpster was easy, and once on the ground they walked unchallenged by the dead.
The office park was quiet. They made it back to the structure quickly and headed up the ramp. They were met halfway to the top by the others. Donna wanted to hug Ron, but despite her joy and relief at seeing him she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. Sal stood apart from them until Ron pulled him over.
“I owe this guy my life.” He patted Sal on the shoulder.
Bill and Mary stood next to each other and apart from the group. Mary went over to join the group, getting between Ron and Sal. Bill’s face was a mask of contempt for the display of emotion.
The sun was still high in the sky; it was not yet noon. Ron and Sal got cleaned up first thing, and then Ron took Donna off to the side. The floor was empty, and they could be seen a good distance away talking but could not be heard. Donna hugged Ron at several points in the story, and when he showed her his injuries she held her hand over her mouth. They talked for over an hour, and during that time Sal had eaten and fell asleep. Mary sat and sketched on a pad with a pencil.
Later that afternoon, Ron and Sal woke from their naps. Jeff was just taking off on another of his solo journeys. Bill was in and out a few times, coming down from the roof level, then going back up. No one paid him much attention. He seemed to be pacing off some stress or worry. He finally stopped and stood, barefoot, by Mary and folded his arms. He scowled at each member of the group.
Weird
, most thought. Ron was the only one not paying attention to him.
Jeff liked going out alone and so far had been away from the structure most of the time the group had been there. Of the forty-eight hours the group had occupied the structure, Jeff had been there for about four hours total. He returned with bags and boxes of stuff the others didn’t have a clue what he planned to do with. When asked, he showed them an assortment of seemingly random objects and said it was a surprise.
As he was leaving this time, he asked Sal and Ron to help him. He was only going over to the business park and needed help carrying some heavy stuff, and he wanted to use the van to bring it back.
“I’m going to get the van. I’ll be back to unload it.” Jeff was walking down the ramp. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder.
“Hey, man, that thing is stuck where it is. I don’t think the three of us can pull it out.”
“I didn’t say the three of us, I said
I
as in me, by myself.”
“What?” Bill spoke rather loudly, sneering.
Jeff didn’t like Bill; the dude was stupid. Most people were stupid compared to Jeff, but most people knew it and either complimented him or challenged him and got their asses handed to them. He didn’t mind less intelligent people. He didn’t mind uneducated people. He just hated mean people who were cynical and negative, always trashing someone else’s ideas or vision in an attempt to look smarter than they were. They were quick to condemn someone else’s ideas but never had any of their own. Bill was one of these people, and he was particularly critical of his wife. Jeff knew what Bill was really like.