Fire Birds (32 page)

“How the hell do you justify that? It just ain’t Christian!” Somerville was using his persuasive, sweet-talking skills on Andrew.

“You ain’t gonna talk that way,” Dan said, on his feet. “Andrew is a man of God and the only light we got right now.”

Somerville rubbed his eyes and took a breath. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, look, I’m sorry. I lost my head there for a second. It’s just that girl ain’t got nobody but us. Surely God would want us to go out looking.”

“And we shall, councilman,” Andrew said in an impatient tone. “But if we’re going to make a trip into town looking for her, why not seal the square while we’re there? Surely you can see the logic in that.”

“It seems to me you have your priorities in the wrong place,” Somerville said.

“Things have quieted down,” Andrew said. “We’ll make a quick run over to the airport. We’ll get a few more supplies, then we’ll each drive over to the square. I think that will do it for the short term. We should be able to seal it well enough to give us safe passage in and out of the church on the seventh street entrance. Dan was tellin’ me that we could string up welded wire or barbed wire to cover any holes or weak spots.”

“Fuck the damn wall!” I yelled. “And fuck you!”

All eyes were on me, and the room got uncomfortably quiet.

“Every minute that passes is another minute that he could be hurting her,” I continued. “I spent time with him. He’s a sociopath, and he’s pissed at Sara. Do you understand?!”

Andrew cleared his throat, “There is no excuse for that sort of language. We don’t use offensive words in our group.”

Something in me snapped. I used to hear about that. I used to hear people say it. I always thought it was a figure of speech, but I literally heard a snap. Then my whole body was awash in what felt like liquid rage. The next thing I knew, I had Andrew by the throat, and I was trying to shove that .410 up his nose.

Guns sprang out around the table, but I ignored them.

“Brian and Jen died because of what you did, but you’re offended by a word?”

“Let him go,” Dan said. I could hear his voice shaking.

“You offer nothing to this group, old man,” I continued. “No. Fucking. Thing. I think that makes you a burden.”

I looked up at the others. Dan, Gail, and Laney were aiming their pistols at me. I felt no fear. I pushed Andrew hard, and he fell backward in his chair to the kitchen floor. I waited for one of them to shoot me, but they didn’t. Andrew’s nose was bleeding. He tried to get up.

“I’m going to take the Prius and look for Sara,” I said in a surprisingly calm tone. “Y’all can kiss my ass.”

I turned and left the house, got my wheelbarrow, and pushed it out to the car. To the west, I could see a dark bank of clouds. It would be a horrible time for a rain. It would be a coincidence that would solidify the group around the pastor. Yet, the air was so still and heavy. Cheryl came out after me.

“They won’t help you now,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“They weren’t going to help me anyway,” I said, loading the guns into the car. “They’re more concerned about building their fort and not saying bad words.”

The front door opened, and Somerville came outside and joined us.

“What kind of shit was that?” he said.

“Like I said, kiss my ass,” was my reply.

He sighed and shook his head. “So you’re just going out by yourself?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“Hell, I’ll go with you,” he said. “Is your head clear? Are you going to be pulling stupid stunts like you did in there?”

I loaded the last gun into the car and shut the door, “Maybe.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I told you; I’m going to start at the court square and work my way from there.”

The front door of the house opened again. Andrew, Dan, and Laney came out on the porch and stopped there.

“I don’t hold no grudge on you,” Andrew said, wiping his nose. “We’re goin’ to help you today, but after that, I’m afraid we’re goin’ to have to go our separate ways.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“You need to show some respect,” Laney said. “The pastor is trying to do right by you. He’s turning the other cheek.”

I got in the car, started it, then rolled down the window.

“You coming?” I said to Somerville.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be along directly. I’ll drive my truck and meet you at the courthouse. I need to talk with these people a bit.”

“Whatever,” I said

I was on autopilot. I don’t remember the drive into town. I just kept replaying everything in my head. I came in from South 6th Street and had to stop at Water Street. Pastor Andrew’s assessment of the town’s condition had been grossly optimistic. Downtown Clayfield was hollow and black. There was not a single blade of grass, not a single pane of glass. The buildings that had survived the fire looked like empty shells. The dead lay in charred, bony heaps in the streets. I armed myself and got out of my car.

It was even hotter here. The area had retained some of the heat from the fire. The bricks and asphalt and metal were still warm, and some of it still smoked. A cool breeze moved between the buildings and brushed my skin. The contrast between this and the actual temperature was noticeable and out-of-place. Ash fluttered and danced over the ground. I walked over charred bones on my way up 6th toward Broadway. The wall of cars was ahead. The courthouse was to my left. There were four zombies on Broadway near the Hill Hotel. They’d been burned too. They were black and blistery, but somehow they had “survived.” They were the only ones. It was as if the creatures knew what had happened here and were staying away.

I broke open the .410 to double-check it. Both barrels were loaded. I snapped it shut and pulled the pistol on my hip to check the magazine. I had extra ammunition in my pockets. I was as ready as I could be.

My first stop would be the county jail, which was adjacent to the courthouse. If Grant had been shut up in there by Bruce, then maybe there would be some clue in there as to where I could find him and Sara. Then I detected the sound of an alarm far away. Because of the buildings, I couldn’t get a fix on the direction from which it was coming. I stood still and listened. I looked over to the creatures by the old hotel. They didn’t act interested.

I tried my best not to make any noise. It was difficult to be quiet when the ground was littered with brittle bones that crunched and snapped under my boots. The breeze picked up and the ash took to the air and swirled like snow. To my left was the fire truck that had been left there by Nathan Camp’s people. It was as black as everything else.

Then I heard laughter. I stopped and stood still again, holding my breath. I was standing on the corner of 6th and Broadway on what had once been the sidewalk around the courthouse lawn. Over on 7th Street I saw the source of the laughter. Two men came out of the old shoe store–Andrew’s selected building. They were both carrying pry bars, and they were talking. I couldn’t make out their words. They looked my direction, but didn’t react. One of them said something, the other laughed again, and they headed north toward the hotel. I suppose they thought I was a zombie. I moved toward Andrew’s wall of cars that were lined up on the other side of the road. I tried to put some odd movements in my gate so they wouldn’t suspect I was a healthy man. Of course, if they looked closely enough and thought about it, they would have noticed my clothing, mask, and guns.

I made it to the line of cars and stopped. All that remained of the vehicles was the metal. Everything else had been burned away. I put my hand on the hood of the car beside me. It was still uncomfortably hot, and I couldn’t stand to touch it for more than a few seconds.

The men ignored me. They were approached by the four creatures. They put the zombies down quickly using the pry bars. The ash moved around more, and the stiff breeze felt good against my face. Above us, the dark clouds piled up from the west.

I watched them bludgeon the things, and tried to decide what to do. It would be naïve for me to think they were only armed with pry bars. Surely they had hidden firearms or maybe friends somewhere out-of-sight watching out for them. Still, they were my only lead. If there was a chance they knew where Sara was, I had to get the information from them. I stumbled toward them, doing my best to mimic the stride of the undead.

Then, behind me, I heard a vehicle approaching from East Broadway. I presumed it was Somerville coming to join me in my search, and I cursed at his bad timing. I turned and looked east. As it got closer, I realized it wasn’t him. It was the yellow Firebird decorated with human heads. I started to lift the lupara when I noticed something that caused me to utter a gasp of shock and caused my whole body to close down for a moment.

Front and center, mounted like a hood ornament, was Sara’s severed head.

At first I couldn’t breathe. Then the breaths came quick and loud as if I was vomiting air. I couldn’t move, yet the car kept coming. In fact, it sped up and steered toward me. I continued to stare at Sara’s vacant, pallid face. Her eyes were closed, and her forehead was dark and scabby. A sound came out of me over which I had no control. It was something like a whine, something like a groan. A second before the car hit, I found my legs and jumped onto the hood of the burned car that was nearest me.

The yellow hotrod scraped along where I had been standing, taking out the fender. The jolt against my vehicle combined with my own momentum sent me tumbling over the car to the sidewalk on the other side. The muscle car rolled over bones and bodies, then turned the corner onto 7th Street and was blocked from view by the abandoned fire truck on the courthouse lawn.

I stood and pulled my pistol.

I heard the rumble of the Firebird as it idled there for a moment, then the engine shut off. A door opened and closed. I still didn’t have a line of sight. I looked to my right. The men moved toward the car. I felt dizzy with shock and grief over what I’d seen. I couldn’t think. I listened to my own breath.

“Why would you do that?” I said.

“Hey, asshole,” Bruce Lee yelled. “I let you live, and how do you repay me, huh? You killed Leia, and you stole my Romulan Warbird! You stole my damn Warbird!”

He finally came into view. The motherfucker was still dressed like a Klingon. He had a bulging messenger bag over his right shoulder. The katana sword was in one hand, and the AA-12 in the other.

His eyes found mine and locked there. He was expressionless. I lifted the .410, but I was so overcome by rage and grief that I fired wild. He didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. Then briefly, an almost undetectable smug grin crossed his lips then vanished. But I saw it. I saw it, and it pushed me into a further state of passion. I wailed and fired again. I missed by a mile.

“What is that?” he said in a friendly tone. “Is that a snake gun?”

The two men ran in from the hotel, pulling pistols from their waistbands.

“I got this,” Bruce said.

The men looked back and forth between us as if trying to make up their minds.

“Hang back! I got this!” Bruce ordered. They nodded and put their guns away.

“Why the hell would you bring a little, two-shot snake gun?”

Two creatures came in behind him from the courthouse. He saw them and turned to face them.

“Hell yeah!” he shouted. “Come on, then!” His blade sliced through the air and lopped off the head of the closest creature. The other came near. Bruce pivoted and lashed out with a beautiful roundhouse kick and tagged the thing on its rotting ear. I was surprised at Bruce’s agility and balance, considering his size. He surprised me again by dropping low and sweeping the creature’s legs with another deft kick. The zombie landed on its side and immediately lost its head to the downward arc of the katana.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Bruce laughed.

I was so dumbfounded by the whole situation that I hadn’t noticed how closely the things were gathering in around me from the bank. The female behind me was right at arm’s length. I dropped the now-empty .410 and pulled my pistol. It was just in time. The barrel pushed into her eye socket, and I blew the back of her head out. I put down another one then I turned my pistol toward Bruce again. He saw what I was doing and pulled a creature in front of him like a shield. The bloated thing stumbled in between us just as I fired, and a yellowish fluid spewed from its back. The two men pointed their guns at me.

Bruce yelled at me, “You’re about to get your ass kicked if you don’t stop shooting at me! And you two, I said I got this!”

I bellowed with rage and frustration, then leapt, sliding over the hood of the burned car like a 1970s TV action star. I was out of my mind. He shoved his shield aside and met me in the street. I lifted my pistol once more, and he slapped me in the head with the flat side of his sword. I lost my weapon and went to my knees. I heard the two men laughing.

“We were supposed to be friends,” he said. “You lied to me, you stole my stuff, and you insulted me.”

I clutched the side of my head, and tried to see through blurry eyes. My senses swarmed in at me again with a roar.

“You killed her.”

“Why do you have such a burr up your ass?” he said. “Is this about that cunt Sara? You said you didn’t know her. Why should you care? She got what was coming to her.”