The Dead & Dying: A Zombie Novel (16 page)

Thunder rumbles and the ground shifts beneath our feet, causing us to huddle together even more closely. But still I continue looking upward, tilting my head back until I am almost looking directly up at the sky.

Lightning flashes and I saw unblinking eyes lacking even the tiniest spark of life. The flesh is pale and bloated and looks as though fish may have been tugging flakes away for quite some time. But the features are unmistakable. This giant creature, this rotter from the depths... it's me.

It moves more quickly than I thought it would, it's arm shooting out and snatching Jason and Monica into a fist the size of a large boulder. The others scatter like cockroaches in the light, but I realize that my feet have turned to roots and burrowed down into the ground so tightly that I can't move at all.

I watch as this monstrous, undead me pops the boy and his mother into its mouth as if they were nothing more than sunflower seeds. And then it's scooping Josie and Watchmaker up, raising them toward its cavernous mouth and I want to scream, to throw stones, to do something,
anything
. But my chest and arms have petrified now as well and my grandfather steps in front of me and shakes his head sadly.

“That ain't you, squirt. That ain't you at all. You don't have a hunger like that.”

Lightning flashes again, this time so bright that all I can see is an endless expanse of white with little blue bursts popping like flashbulbs. When the intensity of the light fades, I find myself in the back in the shack.

The pain in my side feels like it's been bitten into again, as if the injuries are fresh and new. The wind howls and I feel the breeze cooling the sweat on my body as the door bangs back and forth against the wall. At some point it must've blown open, but I don't remember this happening. I can see outside, though, and it's as black as the heart of Satan, the trees whipping back and forth as if bowing in subservience to the might of the approaching storm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him. Jason. Standing there and looking for all the world like he wishes he could rip my head off with his bare hands. But when I turn to look, the image fades and there's only the same dusty walls I've come to know so well.

“I'm sorry.” I try to say, but the words that come from my mouth are undecipherable. I may have as well been speaking in code.

But it does turn my mind back to that day again. Back to that town. Back to that little church at the edge of the woods . . .

I looked around me, trying to take stock of anything I could use to save that kid's life without sacrificing my own. But the pickings were rather slim: nothing more really than piles of rubble, broken glass, an electronics store, and a little shop of knick-knacks with a wooden sign proclaiming
Timeless Treasures
. For a moment I felt lost, like a toddler who slipped out of his mother's hand and found himself in a strange, nightmare land. Which must have been how Jason was feeling.

I knew if I stayed out in the open that it was only a matter of time before one of those zombies at the church saw me. And since the street held nothing useful for me, I slipped into the electronics store, taking care that the little silver bell above the door didn't jingle as I pushed it open.

For the most part, everything inside was still in order. Computers looked down from shelves at me, reflecting the gloom of the store in their dark monitors; a few adding machines were strewn across the floor and reams of paper had burst open, spilling white, rectangular sheets like abstract throw rugs. I saw a row of televisions and wondered if anyone was still broadcasting, if there was news of exactly how far this thing had spread. But, lacking the time for idle speculation, I eased my way past them and made my way to the back office.

The office consisted of a desk with a 1980s style boom box perched on the corner, a calendar tacked to the wall, and a whiteboard with a list of names, days, and scheduled times scrawled across its surface. There were a few filing cabinets, a phone that the snapped telephone pole on the street made useless, and a door on the opposite side with a little red exit sign above it. Just a standard office. No more, no less.

I slumped into the chair at the desk and swiveled back and forth. I wanted to pound my fists against the wood, to release the energy in my tense muscles with a shout. They would be in that church sooner or later. And here I was, surrounded by useless artifacts. Powerless. Helpless. A would-be hero facing his own limitations and failings.

Lying in front of the boom box was what appeared to be the plastic case for a series of motivational tapes of some sort. They were labeled, in large black letters
RISE UP AND OVERCOME: Personal Power Through Positive Belief
. One of the tapes was missing from its slot and I noticed it securely nestled in the jam box's tape deck. Funny, the things your mind will latch onto when what you really need is to think of something useful. For example, I also noticed that the boom box wasn't plugged in, that there was no cord connecting it to the outlet on the wall.

An idea flared in my mind like a match striking. I bolted from the chair, grabbed the boom box with both hands and flipped it over. I fumbled with the little plastic covering and finally popped it out. Six D-cell batteries inside. There might be hope yet.

I then ran over to the exit door which had a little sign advising that an alarm would sound if opened. Seeing as how power was gone from this street, however, I didn't think that would really be much of an issue. Pushing it open, I peeked outside and saw that it lead into a typical alley: brick buildings on either side, dumpsters, graffiti.

Alrighty then, I thought. Let's pray this works.

Returning to the boom box, I turned the volume knob until it could go no further. Then I slid the three little paddles on the equalizer to the very top of their troughs and depressed the little button labeled
bass boost
. The office door I propped open with a computer tower and then, pausing only for a moment, I pressed the play button on the tape deck.

As the words came booming from the speakers, I made for the exit and slipped out into the alley I'd glimpsed earlier. My heart was pounding and adrenaline was surging through my veins like a ruptured water main. But I forced myself to slow down, to walk as softly through the alley as I could and to press myself into the shadows.

In the silence of the town, I could hear the narrator on the tapes almost as clearly as if I were wearing headphones.

“... you have to believe. Now, what exactly do I mean by believe? Isn't belief a simple matter of.... ”

By the time I got to the mouth of the alley, I could just make out the church in the distance. The zombies were still hammering at the door and walls, still scrambling to gain entrance in any way they could.

“It's not working.” I thought. “Son of a bitch, it's not working!”

“... having a conviction from information received from, or derived by, your five senses? Yes and no.”

As I watched however, I saw one of the corpses whip its head back toward the street. It stood there for a moment like a coon hound catching a scent. Others took notice as well and the entire crowd began to slowly turn toward the source of the sound. The thudding on the walls had completely stopped now, which made the words of the motivational speaker even more distinct and clear.

“What I am talking about is belief based on the presumption that you.... ”

Like water bursting through an earthen dam, they spilled out onto the street. A few freshies in the pack led the way, but the rotters straggled after as quickly as their deteriorating muscle would allow.

I pressed myself flat against the alley wall, hoping that the shadows and their single-mindedness would help cloak me from view. I heard them pass with the sound of feet shuffling against concrete, fart-like sounds as gas from rotting organs escaped, scraping and dragging. The smell drifted into the alley like I was downwind from a pig farm after slaughtering day. I held my breath and pinched my nose to keep from gagging on the noxious stench, to keep from giving away my hiding place with a retch.

I heard the breaking of glass, things toppling over with thumps and thuds, and knew they had entered the store. As quickly and quietly as possible I started making my way toward the church, making sure to stay as far from the line of sight of the store as possible. Just in case any of them happened to look out the window at the pillaged street beyond.

Almost halfway there and all I could think was,
it's working, it's really working
....

Then I noticed that the man on the tape had begun to slur his words, sounding like a drunkard four shots into a binge. The sentences were getting slower and seemed to be dragging.

“Good god, can't I catch a fuckin' break?”

It had never occurred to me that the batteries in the boom box might not be fresh. And there had been a whole display out in the front part of the store, too....

Abandoning caution, I sprinted the rest of the way to the church as the words from the tape continued to drag slower and slower. I was pretty sure the door to the church was locked, but I also knew it had been weakened by the undead barrage; as I neared the top of the steps at full speed, I threw myself into the air and crashed into the wood with my shoulder.

The impact jarred my entire body, but the door flung open with a sharp, metallic ping and I was suddenly rolling across the inside of the church.

The little boy started screaming and I tried to quiet him, to reassure him.

“Jason, it's me. Carl. Shhhh. They'll hear you.”

He was lying on the floor beneath a ladder and even from this distance I could see that his left ankle was swollen to the size of a grapefruit and was covered with blue and black bruises.

He must've thought I was one of them, because he started trying to crawl his way backward, all the while screaming in a shrill voice.

“Get away from me! Leave me alone! Help!”

“Jason, it's Carl. I know you're scared, but you have to be quiet.”

I looked back over my shoulder through the doorway. Good. Apparently his screams hadn't distracted them from trying to find the person they assumed was hiding somewhere in the electronics store. But how much longer would the tape fool them? How much longer before the boy's voice drew them back to the church?

“Shhhh.”

Frustration spread like an oil spill within my belly, making me nauseous and tense. I scrambled to the boy and clamped my hand over his mouth, but then there was a flash of pain as his teeth sank into the fleshy parts of my palm.

“Help me! Someone.... ”

“Damn it, Jason, they're gonna hear you!”

I slapped my hand over his mouth again, fought back the urge to pull it away as he bit again.

In the silence I could hear the tape again. The words were so slow now that they were unrecognizable as English.

“We've got to get out of here.”

I scooped the little boy into my arms. I was pretty sure we could make it into the woods behind the church before the corpses even realized we were gone. But we had to move now.

The boy thrashed about in my arms and I tried to remind myself that he was terrified and probably hadn't realized yet that I wasn't one of them. But every instinct in my body wanted to slap him across the face.

Something tickled the back of my neck and my heart felt as if it had literally stopped. End of the road. Those had to be fingers reaching out for me....

I spun around, expecting to see a rotting face glaring back. But there was only a rope swinging back on forth with tassels on one end. A rope which lead up through a small hole in the ceiling.

“We hafta go now”

I began to run toward the door, but the boy was still fighting like two cats in a sack. He squirmed and flailed and kicked and bit down so hard I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming as blood trickled down my hand.

“Damn it, Jason,
stop it!
I'm here to help!”

His hands grabbed onto the rope and he tried to pull himself free even as I was trying to move forward. Overhead I heard the bell toll, a low
bong
sound that seemed to ring out and waver in the silence.

Silence
. The tape had stopped completely.

Jason pulled again, trying to wrestle himself from my grasp, and again the bell above chimed.

“Jason, no!”

Down the street, I saw them stream out of the electronics store. Corpse after corpse stumbled and tripped in their haste and it seemed like they just kept right on coming. The street filled with their mangled limbs and twisted flesh, the freshies leading the charge at a full-blown run.

There was no way we could make it to the forest now. Before we were even halfway there the freshies would bring us down like a bobcat on a rabbit. And the horde continued to draw closer even as the boy kept struggling and that old iron bell rang and rang, tolling out our doom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: JOSIE

“We probably could've went with them for a spell.” Carl admitted as we walked. “They're heading to Florida, we're going for West Virginia. Right along the way, you might say.”

“Then why didn't we?”

I was cold and tired and thought of the heater in the Hummer blasting out warm air as Doc and Sadie raced southward. The soft, comfortable seats....

“I turned it over in my head. I really did. But I was afraid when we finally got to West-By-God it would be too easy just to keep right on truckin'.

I felt annoyed and grouchy and wanted to snap at Carl, to lash out at him with my words. But I had to keep reminding myself that this was my choice. He hadn't forced me to come with him. I'd kind of argued my way into his plans just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye. Just to have more time with him. So I really didn't have any other option but to play by his rules.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Carl searched through his pockets and brought out a pack of cigarettes which, as it turned out, were empty. He crumpled the pack into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder.