I slumped to my knees. A hand on my shoulder…pushed down. I was faced with silly old me again. He looked gaunt,
dead
, almost lifeless but moved between the trees as though he drifted between the thick branches. It was me again, dead but alive, dull green faced and watching the forest. He reminded me of a fictitious leprechaun.
I felt the damp leaves beneath my fingers as I crawled forward, unable to breathe. The sounds of the dead closed in from behind.
My other self whispered, “
He called his rescue racer crew as often they'd rehearsed and off to save the boy they flew, but who would get there first
?”
More from H R Pufnstuf.
“Mean anything to you, boy?”
“Yeah,” I panted. “Please help me.”
My alternative, green faced self reached down and lifted me by my arm and dragged me to another world.
Chapter Forty-One
The overhead light flickered then dimmed. I was in a garage someplace and my alternative self stood beside me. He stood grinning, as though he knew something bad was going to happen and glad the situation was about to commence.
The temperature felt cold and the air smelled oily. I knew we weren’t in a good place. It felt as though I was back on the east side of the States somewhere again.
My old friends Pete Cousins, Marlon Keen and I were kneeling down, facing into a garage pit with our hands on the backs of our heads. It was good to see them but I got the vibe this wasn’t a happy type of reunion. Pete and Marlon’s faces were taught with concern. I had the feeling we were in deep shit.
I glanced around our surroundings and saw an overweight guy with dark curly hair flopping over his forehead and wearing a badly fitted gray cotton suit. He stared intently at me and held a big chrome handgun, pointed at my head. The guy showed no emotion on his face and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate in pulling the trigger. What had we done to warrant such attention?
We were inside a large work depot of some kind. A few cars with their hoods raised sat on the far side of the workshop. Electric strip lights overhead shone down over us, casting shadows in the garage pit below.
Somebody else came into the room, entering through a doorway from behind us to the right. I turned my head and felt relieved to see Smith striding up towards the three of us kneeling beside the pit.
“Smith, thank god,” I said. “What the hell is going on?”
Smith exchanged a glance with the overweight gunman and grinned incredulously. “Excuse me, do I know you?”
“Of course you do. Come on, quit fucking around, Smith,” I said. “What’s going on here?”
Smith shook his head. “I don’t know who the hell you are, friend. I’ve never seen you before. But I do know you and your pals owe certain people a lot of money and I also know you boys can’t pay up.”
Pete Cousins whimpered beside me.
“The people you owe money to are
not
at all in high spirits they can’t get their repayments back,” Smith continued. “In fact, you could say they are extremely pissed off with you guys.” He reached into his black suit jacket and pulled out a Desert Eagle handgun from a shoulder holster. I heard the
click-clack
as he pulled back the slide.
Pete whimpered louder.
“Whoa, Smith,” I yelled. “Hang on a goddamn minute. We’re friends…we…we…we’re best buddies. We’re in the middle of a damn zombie apocalypse and you and me are always on the run. We’re always watching each other’s backs. This situation ‘aint real.”
Smith smiled and broke out into a loud belly laugh. He turned to his cohort in the gray suit. “Who the hell is this guy, Benito? He’s nuts, I love him.”
The overweight guy in the gray suit smirked and shrugged. “He comes with the package, Franco. Part of the holy trinity of Mr. Cousins’ debt.”
“Too bad,” Smith snorted. “What’s your name, kid?”
“You know me, Smith,” I stammered. “I’m Brett Wilde, you know, Wilde Man. You know me, man.” My stomach lurched around and I felt bile rise to my throat. What the hell was going on here?
“Well, Brett Wilde, it was good to meet you, kid,” Smith said. “Unfortunately, our acquaintance has to be a brief one.”
Smith aimed his handgun at Pete’s head. Pete Cousins sniveled and I saw a tear roll down his cheek.
“I…I’m sorry, guys,” Pete yelped.
Smith pulled the trigger and a loud booming sound echoed through the workshop. Pete’s head rocked violently amid a shower of crimson and he fell into the pit below us. Smith twisted and fired again, this time slaughtering Marlon Keen.
I heard another deafening burst, like an incredibly loud popping in my ears. The sound reverberated around my skull and I felt myself falling head first down into total blackness.
I didn’t recall hitting the bottom of the pit. Something wet, cold and soft and squishy lay beneath me. I groped around in the dark trying to figure out where the hell I was and if I was still alive.
“That would have been your reality,” my own voice said from somewhere in the murky depths. “That would have been how you’d have ended up. Dead in some crappy garage pit and murdered by your so-called, good pal Smith. Your best buddies, Pete Cousins and Marlon Keen would have gotten you killed, getting into dangerous debts they couldn’t pay. The apocalypse and the death of humanity actually saved your life.”
I couldn’t see my alternative self and his voice sounded like an echo from somewhere far away. I crawled on my hands and knees through the darkness, feeling the dampness seep through my pant legs and against the palms of my hands.
“Where are you?” I grunted. “In fact, where the hell am I?”
I glanced upward and saw a faint blue hue with lots of little white pinpricks of light shining amongst a massed web of intercrossing black lines.
Monotonous moans and snarling sounds came from somewhere behind me. The fog clouding my mind lifted and I knew where I was. I was on my hands and knees in the small wood back on the Island of St. Miep, crawling through a muddy patch and looking at the sky through the overhead tree branches. The undead I was supposedly distracting came after me through the trees. I could hear them but I couldn’t see them. It was too damn dark.
I tried to stand but the mud beneath me seemed to be sucking me down, pulling me into the ground.
I couldn’t move and the sounds of the undead increasingly grew closer.
Chapter Forty-Two
Smith waited until Brett Wilde had led all the zombies down the dirt track and completely out of sight. He kept to the shadows, glancing up at the castle walls and decided it was safe to move. Nobody seemed to be watching the proceedings from the turrets and battlements above him. Smith moved swiftly and silently to the huge wooden gates that protected the inhabitants from the outside world.
Reaching into the satchel around his waist, Smith pulled out the C-4 explosive. The detonators and timers were in a separate section and he set them up against the center of the castle gates. Smith set the LCD timers for five minutes and retreated away from the castle, keeping to the shadows beside the rocks. He scanned the dirt track for approaching ghouls or his accomplice.
“Where the hell is that idiot, Wilde Man?” Smith muttered to himself.
He wondered if his friend had run into trouble back down the track. The kid always had a knack for getting himself into scrapes but he also had an amazing ability to get himself out of those bad situations. Smith hoped this scenario was no different and they’d come out of this task relatively unscathed.
Smith worried about Brett Wilde and at times the kid seemed to be experiencing some kind of psychotic episodes, when he’d wander around in a trance like state, muttering to himself, almost as though he was arguing with voices inside his head. Nothing was normal. Not no more and Smith realized he had to work with the hand he was dealt. Wilde was basically a good guy to have at his side, even if he was a little strange.
Smith turned back to look at the castle gates. The timers on the explosives were probably about done. Where the hell was Wilde?
Some zombies were also stuck in the mud around me and they thrashed their arms while trying to free themselves. I was still attempting to pull myself free from the sucking mud when I heard a deep, booming rumble that sounded as though a comet had collided with the planet. A shower of small pieces of wood splinters, leaves, and bits of branches rained down from the trees above.
I tasted sand in my mouth along with an acrid burning stench and realized Smith had either blown up the castle or the occupants had retaliated in a big way.
A bushy tree branch slopped over in the mud a couple of feet in front of me and I grabbed at the thick foliage. The trunk of the branch was thick and stayed in place on the mud’s surface as I hauled myself forward. My feet slopped and the mud sucked at my sneakers but I managed to drag myself free. I crawled along through the branches until I felt solid ground below the trunk.
Moans and snarls resounded near me and I saw silhouettes of figures shuffling through the surrounding trees. I scrambled off of the fallen tree, testing the ground below was solid enough to walk across without sinking. I hurried to the nearest upright tree and crouched beside the trunk. Wet mud caused my clothes to stick close to my skin. I’d lost all sense of direction and couldn’t figure out which way to get back onto the dirt track.
I heard the sound of an engine revving and caught sight of something moving beyond the tree line to my right. The Ford pickup truck drove steadily up the slope around twenty yards in front of me from left to right. The truck’s lights were on low and I heard voices yelling from further up the slope.
I now knew which direction to take but I was stuck in my position with zombies all around me.
Gunshots rang out beyond the woods from further up the track. It was all going down up there and I was trapped in the damn woods. I reached around my back and was relieved to find the handgun still wedged into my waistband. I drew the weapon, held it pointing upward and decided to move.
I ran in a crouched stance to the nearest tree and stopped for a few seconds, listening and waiting. No approaching moans or footfalls came. The undead were disorientated and either bogged down in the mud or stumbling around between the trees. I heard them screeching wildly as they thrashed around in the sticky mud. I hurried to the next tree trunk and hunkered down.
The sound of twigs snapping to my rear caused me to spin around. A shadow loomed from right to left and I saw the silhouette of outstretched hands clawing at the air. I stayed still and the figure stopped moving, only a few feet from my position. The figure emitted a low, throaty growl and turned slowly. I wasn’t sure if I’d been spotted and tried to keep my breathing steady and silent.
Firing the handgun would give away my position and I knew I had to avoid the center of the wooded area where the thick mud lay. My options were extremely limited so I decided to use my firearm only as a last resort.
The figure to the rear of me turned again in a jerky motion and trudged slowly toward the middle of the woods. I stepped away from the tree trunk and trod carefully forward. The moonlight shone through the trees and I could see the dirt track around twenty feet in front of me. All my senses told me to run and head for the road. I resisted the temptation and cautiously continued onward.
I bypassed a couple more trees and trod through the long grass at the edge of the woods. More gunfire erupted further up the track, followed by raised voices, which caused me to freeze on the spot. I wondered what the hell was going on up there. Was I heading into another disaster zone?
The vision of Smith mocking Pete Cousins, Marlon Keen and myself, before coldly executing the three of us flashed through my mind. Was Smith worth my assistance? I shook my head slightly. That scenario was simply my mind throwing up scenes that never actually took place and may not have even panned out that way. Smith was still my friend, whatever had happened in the past. He may have kicked ass up the slope or he may have been in trouble. Either way he probably needed my help.
I went to take a forward step up the inclining path but instead felt a hand roughly grab the back of my hair and forcefully pull me backwards.