“Anime!” I defended myself. “It’s anime, it’s an art form. Which is more than I can say about your reality shows. When society rebuilds, what’s coming back, artwork flowing across the screen, or anything named Kardashian?”
“He gets so touchy doesn’t he?” Abby laughed.
“I do not!” I said stamping my foot like a child to the laughter of everyone watching.
“We better get him a PB&J before he throws a bigger tantrum,” Abby said reaching for the bread.
“I knew you loved me,” I said with a wink.
Chapter Eighteen
The liquor burned as Jim emptied another bottle down his parched throat. His stomach warmed as the top shelf booze filled his belly. His head felt heavy, body numbed from a morning of over indulgence of whiskey he could have never afforded before. He threw the empty bottle against the wall, shattering it into tiny jagged shards on an old wagon wheel hung to add to the saloon decor.
Jim laughed as he rifled through the collection of liquor on the oaken shelves behind the bar. For years he was told that whiskey would be wasted on a drunk like him. But now he was free, left alone to do as he pleased without worry of being shamed and ridiculed. Right then, he wanted everything he was denied before the dead had turned the world upside down.
Grabbing a bottle of single malt scotch, he threw his head back as he drank deeply. Settling back down on his favorite stool, he stared at the church through a large tinted window. His dulled mind bounced back and forth between the joy of indulgence, and the distant ache of losing his children.
“Guess ole Jim ain’t worth much until your friends start taking bits out of your asses!” his anger directed at the church. He snorted and went back to his bottle, trying again to quench a thirst that could never be sated. “Help us! Help us! Ahhhhh!” he laughed as he mocked the dying cries of the people he had doomed.
Through his drunken haze, he watched through the bar windows as small hands emerged from between the church’s double doors. They reached at the chain looped around the handles until finally retreating back into the darkness in defeat. It was something that he had watched several times that morning, long after the screaming had stopped.
“You ain’t breaking those chains! You can keep tryin, but you ain’t getting out!” Jim raged before taking another long drink.
His heavy head hung down, dropping to the cool wood of the bar he had spent so many of his nights bellying up to. His eyelids began to betray him as they forced their way closed. The last few hours were catching up with him, and he felt unconsciousness creeping up on him.
“Just a few minutes. Close my eyes for just a few minutes. I gotta go find them kids. They think I didn’t seem em, but I did. Can’t let them get away. Don’t need them to go blabbing to anyone. Just two more problems to take care of before…”
His thoughts trailed off as he snored away.
**********
Jim sat straight up in his chair as the crack of gunfire echoed through the streets. A wave of confusion washed over him. He thought he heard shouting, but he couldn’t be sure as more gunfire echoed through the town.
His skin tingled with fear as he watched people he once knew shuffle out from the broken church doors. He heard another blast, and the woman he knew as Penny had her face stripped away. She fell backwards, her brains spilling to the ground. Jim vomited at the sight, heaving huge amounts of bile across the floor.
He heard a car door slam and an engine rev. He rushed to the window, catching sight of a tan SUV. It skidded sideways, battling its way through several of the creatures before driving away.
“Damn it, wait for me!” he slurred.
He was elated when he heard the car screech to a stop again. His joy ended when he saw two kids pop out from behind the barber shop. A man in tight sweat pants and a hunting jacket jumped from the car, firing a rifle into the pack of creatures until the kids were safely inside. They were gone before he could take a step towards the door.
“No! Wait!” he called out. Through the tinted glass, Jim saw several heads turn towards him. Dozens of otherworldly white eyes peered into the bar, looking for the source of the voice. Looking for him.
He grabbed his pistol, intent on fighting his way through the herd of walking corpses to his truck. His first step sent him spiraling to the floor, slipping on his own vomit. Blood erupted from his nostrils as his nose crunched on the hardwood floor. He crashed into tables and chairs trying to get back on his feet. Pain induced tears clouded his vision causing him to stumble over unseen obstacles as he made his way to the front door.
He launched himself forward, banging his forehead on the door before his hands found the brass doorknobs. He leaned against the door, using his sweat stained shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, wishing he had just one more drink. He flung the door open, ready to fight.
He froze, dropping his pistol to the floor.
“Boys?”
His knees buckled, dropping him to the floor at the sight of his two dead children. They emitted a guttural hiss when their clouded eyes locked onto their father. Foamy spittle dripped from their mouths as they pushed their way into the bar. He kicked his way across the floor and away from the creatures advancing into the bar and towards the new source of warm meat. The room filled with mournful moans and growls, drowning out Jim’s panicked grunts.
Jim slid through his own vomit again until he found himself under a table against the back wall. Dead beings continued to file into the room, sliding their feet as they shuffled closer to Jim’s trembling form. His own sons drew closer, their lips pulled back in an angry snarl. They growled like pack animals closing in on a kill.
“Andy? Patrick? It’s me! It’s your dad!”
The two showed no more remorse for him than Jim did when he left them to die in the church. Their faces were filled only with hunger. Andy’s foot slipped on the wet floor, sending him crashing downward. Andy remained undeterred as he pulled himself closer toward his meal. Jim tried to push his eldest son away, but his depth perception was still affected by the hours of inebriation.
Jim screamed as the bones in his fingers crunched inside his dead son’s mouth. Jim pulled his mostly fingerless hand back and kicked his dead son away from him. Patrick dropped to his knees, grabbing Jim’s foot and sinking his teeth into the soft fleshy ankle. His pleas became wails of pain as his youngest son tore away a long strip of fibrous muscle. Andy dug his fingers into the open tear in Jim’s ankle, tearing upwards into the calf muscle before rending a chunk of bright red flesh away. Andy shoved the meat into his mouth, blood trickling down his ashen chin.
Jim punched and kicked, trying to escape from his tormentors. He begged for mercy from a God who would not hear his cries. His painful pleas were instead met with more townspeople coming to exact their literal pound of flesh.
His cries finally went silent when one of the gathering dead bit down on his windpipe. Blood poured into Jim’s lungs as his throat was torn from his body. Eyes widened in terror as he watched a set of teeth tear the flesh from his cheekbone.
Eventually the number of creatures on him grew to the point that he could see nothing else but dead faces and those terrible unfeeling white eyes. Fingers dug deep into his soft flesh, bones snapped as his extremities were broken away. His body became a symphony of pain as clawed hands and teeth ripped at every inch of flesh.
His life ebbed away as he died in the bar he had spent every night in for so many years. It did not take long before the only thing left of Jim was a puddle of blood, a pile of bones, and the sound of ghouls chewing on his remains.
Chapter Nineteen
We ate our lunch quickly and got back on the road. From what I had seen from the creatures, I was fairly confident that they would not win any sprinting contests. We had escaped the zombie herd at high speed, so I didn’t expect them to catch up with us. If we were very lucky, they had lost interest in us and decided to chase down a cat or something. But I didn’t want to rely on luck, and we had spent quite a bit of time consoling our new guests.
The car was quiet. It had been a couple hours since we were escorted out of town by the local populace. Katie and Jane got along well enough, but I believed it would be some time before Jane was up to playing like a normal kid again. Katie tried to talk about school and friends, but Jane didn’t give much more than one word answers. Eventually they both gave up and fell asleep.
Abby spent her time comforting Lexi until they both fell asleep too. Though we had brought a smile to her lips during our earlier stop, the fact remained that she had survived horrors that would break just about anyone. Even in her sleep, her tears continued to flow. She jumped and whimpered, occasionally kicking the back of my seat. I did not envy the nightmares she would likely have for many years to come.
I kept a close watch on the time as I anxiously awaited the next news broadcast. In the short time we had been on the road that news station had become a near obsession. I couldn’t wait to her something besides the brain scrambling static that occupied all the other stations. It took about an hour of listening to dead air before the urge to drive a sharpened pencil through my own ear drums forced me to turn the radio off.
I turned the radio on five minutes before their scheduled broadcast, keeping the volume low enough to as not to disturb the sleeping girls. I did not have to wait long.
“Ladies and gentleman, I would like to wish you a good afternoon. But I don’t believe anyone alive enough to hear my voice is having a good afternoon. The scene here is like a different world. In the hours since our last broadcast, the streets have calmed. If people are still here, they are not venturing outside. Whenever someone tries to escape, a mass of the creatures soon follows. Those lucky enough to have a vehicle have a better chance. We have not seen anyone on foot live more than a few minutes once they are on the street.
The dead are everywhere now. They seem to wander aimlessly, until some sound or sight draws their attention. A door slam, a car engine, even a random animal can evoke an attack. If you can stay where you are, please do so. It is far too dangerous to venture out.
Of course, if anyone is brave enough to still do pizza deliveries, we’ll take a very large sausage and green pepper up here.”
“Make that two,” I laughed. Maybe it was because his voice was the last connection I felt with the real world. It could be that he was a natural smart ass, something I can genuinely appreciate. Or maybe it was just the fact that we liked the same pizza. No matter the reason, I found myself liking this man.
“This morning we received an update from the CDC. They believe they have discovered what may be behind this disease, and how we lost the fight against it so quickly.
Scientists at the CDC have discovered a substance similar to the parasitic fungus responsible for the “zombie ant” present in all of the infected. The zombie ant is a normal ant of mostly jungle regions that is infected by one of several types of parasitic fungi known to exist. The fungus then takes control of the ant’s brain, forcing it to relocate itself to a place that allows the fungus to reproduce.
Like the zombie ant, the fungal agent found in the infected appears to kills its host. Unlike the ant however, this particular fungus forces the corpse to continue to move and seek out sources of protein.
Initially the contagion was mistaken for the common cold or the flu. It transferred like a virus, through sneezing, coughing, and contact with contaminated surfaces. Victims suffered fevers, vomiting, chills, headaches, and other flu-like symptoms. Even the rapid influenza test would return with a positive result for the flu in most cases. It is now known that the very recent spike in reported influenza outbreaks and fever related deaths were a result of this fungus. Only a spinal tap would have revealed the presence of this fungal growth, however there was never a reason to perform such an invasive procedure on people exhibiting symptoms that presented as the simple flu.
Most of those who were infected survived. The fungus went dormant in the body and the victim appeared to return to full health. Those who died as a result of the fever did not immediately reanimate. However, the fungus inside the deceased did not go to into stasis as it did with those who survived the fever. Instead it grew, feeding on the brain and nervous system.
Scientists at the CDC have found that when infected brain tissue is exposed to open air, as in the case of an autopsy, it begins to break down and release spores. They speculate that in the beginning this process took several days, and went largely unnoticed.
These spores reacted with the dormant fungus of those who were previously infected but survived. Those people were just time bombs waiting for the second part of the infection, the trigger spore if you will. When the dormant fungus came into contact with the released airborne spores, the reaction killed the victim within minutes. Those victims reanimated almost immediately. Those were the first of the dead to walk.
Everything snowballed from there. As anyone alive now is aware, the only way known to kill a ghoul is to destroy the brain. But the second that the brain tissue from any reanimated corpse touches the air, it dissolves into a viscous fluid, releasing fully matured spores into the atmosphere. If these matured spores come into contact with a dead body, it will reanimate that body regardless of prior infection unless the corpse has been embalmed or the brain has been damaged in any way. Those who were in contact at the moment the brain dissolves have reported headaches, nausea, temporary blindness, dizziness, and skin irritation.
According to the CDC, one ghoul brain contains a massive volume of infectious spores. It is unknown how long the spores will stay airborne. What is known is the spores have spread across the globe. It is believed that everyone who survived the initial fever has already died and come back as one of the undead.
There are other changes that occur during the reanimation process besides the obvious dead person up and walking around part. The saliva of the corpse changes into a sticky toxin that presents like a frothy foam whenever the infected come in contact with a food source. The toxin carries with it a high concentration of matured spores. In most cases the bitten will die from this poison within the first 4 hours, and returns to life within thirty minutes.
It is also believed that the fungal agent slows, or even halts the decay rate of the infected. It looks like these walking mushrooms will be with us for a very long time.”
“Fuck me,” I exhaled. Quickly I glanced in the mirror to make sure my slip of the profane did not elicit a shoe to the back of my head.
“Think that’s bad folks? It gets worse.”
“Of course it does,” I said to nobody. “Why half ass the end of the world?”
“Currently, the concentration of matured spores in the air is very high. With each creature killed, more spores are released. But the CDC states these matured spores do not affect living people in the same way it does dead bodies. Instead, the fungus will go dormant again, until the carrier dies. When that happens, the person will come back unless the brain is destroyed. Due to the concentration of contagion in the air, the CDC estimates every living man, woman, and child on Earth is infected. Everyone will come back.”
I sighed shaking my head. “So what’s the bad news?”
“We have received a lot of phone calls over the last few hours informing us of events on the ground. Many of the roadblocks set up since this crisis began have been abandoned. It is, however, advisable that you still approach checkpoints with caution. Callers have reported muggings, assaults, and even murder by those taking advantage of this crisis. It is advised that everyone exercise extreme caution with the dead, and ever more caution with the living.
As I close this broadcast, I would like to thank all the people who have called in with well wishes, and to keep us informed of events as they happen. We appreciate every call we receive. There may however be a time when we will no longer hear from you, either from our need to conserve power or simply from network failures. We just want you all to know whether you can get through to us or not, you are in our thoughts and prayers. For now, we are signing off again. We hope to have more news for you later this evening. From all of us a WFUKD radio, be safe. Yes, we changed our call letters, because here in Chicago, We Fucked. If anyone at the FCC has any complaints over the language, they are welcome to come down and hand us our fines.”
I chuckled as the radio went silent. For what it was worth, he still had his humor.
I turned down the volume on the static filled radio to process this latest information. The fleeting hopes that this infection would burn itself out had been dashed completely. This was here to stay. Unless we wanted to become zombie chow, we had to kill them. The act of killing them releases the infection into the air that makes more of them.
Damned if you do, eaten if you don’t.
“Well that explains what happened to you by the police car,” Abby said, placing her hand on my shoulder from the back seat.
“Jesus Abby! Are you trying to scare me to death on this trip?! How long have you been awake?”
“As soon as you turned the radio on,” she said laughing. “A little jumpy are we?”
“When the dead are walking and we’re on the menu, yeah my jumpiness factor goes up a tad,” I replied. “I do have some more bad news. We need to start thinking about gas soon.”
“How soon?” Abby asked as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I thought we had well over a half tank.”
“We did when we left this morning,” I said “But we’ve been taking the very long way there. Back tracking from that town didn’t help either. We’re below a quarter now.”
“Can we make it on what we have?” Abby asked as she began to fidget nervously with her seatbelt. She had every reason to be hesitant. Our last two supply stops had not gone smoothly, and she had no reason to think that would change.
“Maybe if we use the highway, and that’s if we don’t have to keep going around wrecks and roadblocks,” I said. “I could try to siphon off something from the dead cars, but who knows what will be waiting for me in and around them. Plus, we would still need to find a hose and something to hold the gas.”
“True, but what are the odds we’ll run across a Mobile station out here?” she asked, nodding towards the window.
“Not good, but we have to find something soon or we’ll be hoofing it across country.”
“I don’t like that idea much either,” she said.
“You never like any of my ideas,” I said winking at her.
“That’s because your ideas have a good chance of involving the police. Or the fire department,” she hesitated before adding that last bit.
“You’re going to bring that up again?”
“We had to move because of it. I’d say it’s worth mentioning from time to time.”
“How was I supposed to know that dog was sleeping in that pile of leaves? It wasn’t my fault that it ran into the neighbor’s garage,” I protested.
“And why did you set the leaves on fire in the first place?” she asked sarcastically.
“It was faster than bagging them all up. Come on, it was a good idea.”
“That’s not what the dog thought,” she chuckled.
“I’m going to stop talking to you. You’re mean.”
“There is another option,” she said looking at the GPS.
“Besides me not talking to you?”
“Can you please be serious for a minute?” she gave me a sideways glance.
“If I answer that will you hit me again?”
“Probably,” she smirked.
“Okay, what’s your idea then?”
“What about Route 12? It’s not a main highway, and it cuts right through Wisconsin. We could stay on it long enough to find gas, and we might even shave some travel time.”
“It’s still risky. That road will bring us through some decent sized populations. We would have better luck with gas though. There’s no guarantee we would find anything on these back roads,” I said eyeing the GPS. “It’s either chance the larger road, or risk running out of gas. No good choices really.”
“I say we go for it,” she said decisively. “I think it’s the better of two evils.”
“You’re the boss,” I said poking her arm with my elbow.
“Can I get that in writing?”
“Not in this lifetime,” I teased.
It was not long before we came to a stop. The four lane road that made up Route 12 was eerily absent of life. I had second thoughts about our course of action, but Abby was right. It was our best chance at finding fuel. One glance at Abby told me she felt the same dread that was coursing through me.