The Dead Collection Box Set #1: Jack Zombie Books 1-4

by Flint Maxwell

  Again, we stay quiet.

  Screw you, Butch Hazard. Screw you and your weapons and your soldiers.

  Butch Hazard nods. “I see you ain’t a polite bunch, either. That’s okay. We can fix that, can’t we, soldiers?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” they answer again in unison.

  “Put a bullet in the skinny blonde bitch’s head. I don’t care if you shoot that man in front of her, either,” Butch Hazard says.

  What? No.

  They raise their weapons just like they talk.

  I break the silence. This has gone too far. I will rip each of their heads off before I let them harm the love of my life.

  I don’t care if I die.

  “Stop this,” I say.

  “Oh, he talks, does he?” Butch Hazard says.

  His ‘soldiers’ laugh together, sounding exactly alike.

  “Good to know we ain’t dealing with muties here,” he says. “Now, let’s talk business.”

  “We don’t want to do business,” I say. I would do business with the Devil before I did business with a bunch of jackasses holding us at gunpoint.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” I answer back.

  “No, there’s not,” Butch says. “Not when you’re staring down the barrel of five guns. I can make you think there’s a choice, sure, but I think we’re passed that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, fuck off!” Abby says from my side. She is not hidden behind Norm. She is not afraid, at least not visibly. “This isn’t your world. This is no one’s world but the dead’s. You don’t make the rules.”

  Butch Hazard starts to laugh. “‘No one’s world but the dead’s,’ I like that. Girl’s got a mouth on her,” he says, then tilts his head and gives her a wink. “But do you know how to use it the right way?”

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” I say.

  Norm makes a move for his gun, but the clicking sounds of the rifles ring out, and he pauses.

  “Listen,” Butch Hazard says. “I don’t want to shoot you, I really don’t, so let’s cut to the chase. You have something I want and we have something you want.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “and what’s that?”

  “We have your freedom, the ability to let you walk away from this situation without another scratch. The path is clear, the dead are dead, and you can get to safety before more arrive,” Butch says. “So you give us Herbert, and then we can all get on with our lives.” He smiles, a big, toothy grin.

  “No,” I say, my mind made up. “I’ve seen what that place did to Herb. He doesn’t want to go back so he’s not going back. Simple. End of story.”

  Darlene squeezes me. She’s not telling me I made the wrong choice. Darlene would support me if I said we all need to stop eating old junk food and start dining on the millions of zombies roaming around. No, she’s squeezing me because she’s scared. A natural reflex for fear.

  I feel it, too. We all do. It hangs in the air like a heavy raincloud, ready to burst.

  “That’s not how it works,” Butch says. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes. “Spike gets to say who comes and who goes. And Herbert was not on the list. Herbert belongs in Eden.”

  “Herbert can do whatever he damn-well pleases,” I say, then look to Herb. He’s shaking, the large muscles beneath the layers of his flesh dancing. “Do you want to go with Mr. Butch Hazard, here, Herb?”

  He shakes his head, slowly, deliberately.

  “There,” I say, “the man has spoken. And last I heard, it was a free country.”

  Butch Hazard walks closer to where we stand, but he is still a good twenty yards away. His fingers hook his belt loops, and he leans back and laughs.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” he says, “this ain’t a country no more. Freedom’s gone. Now I’m a man of good morals, that much is true. I say my prayers every night, wash my hands before every meal, and kiss my wife goodbye whenever I leave our compound, so I’m all about freedom and free choice and countries and all that hippie bullshit. But don’t get me started on freedom. True freedom. I damn near died for the freedom of this country more than once.” He laughs as he pulls the collar of his shirt down, revealing a puckered scar that can be none other than a scarred over bullet wound. “This is just one, got a couple more on my back and thigh, but I’ll hope you take my word for it. So don’t talk to me about freedom.”

  “I don’t want to go back,” Herb says. His voice is hardly a whisper. I barely hear it and I don’t think anyone else does.

  “Now you don’t want the extinction of the human race on your hands, do you?” Butch Hazard asks me. His eyes drilling down into my soul. They are as black as onyx, as emotionless as a zombie.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Norm asks. He leans forward, his eyes narrowed. I know he’s fallen for the trap. Butch threw out the bait and he’s trying to hook us. I won’t fall for it. I know this shit is too deep to get out of. The human race is nothing but a dwindling flame. By next year, it’ll be a spark, and depending how you look at it, that spark that can easily blow out at the first strong breeze.

  “I’m talking about Eden and I’m talking about Herbert Walker,” Butch says. “This dumb-looking bastard is the key to us beating these suckers. In Eden, we are doing something great. We are coming up with a cure. We are fixing this fuck-up.” He points to the dead on my left.

  All I can think is bullshit. I wouldn’t believe anything this guy says.

  “I’m not going!” Herb says, a repeat of his earlier sentiment, but this time his voice is louder. One of Butch’s soldiers breaks formation. It’s the slightest movement, but I see it, and I sense that Abby sees it too by the way she looks in the man’s direction.

  “Oh ho ho,” Butch says, “look who learned how to speak up.”

  “I don’t wanna work for him no longer,” Herb says. “I don’t wanna help.”

  “Well, see, Herb, that’s the conundrum we’re in here. I do work for Spike, and I have my orders.”

  Butch reaches behind his back, pulls a pistol free. Sunlight catches on the chrome, momentarily blinding me.

  “My orders are simple. Bring Herb back, bring anyone who leaves the compound back, and kill whoever gets in our way if I have to. I’m gonna do just that,” Butch says, striding the rest of the way over to us.

  I reach for the gun on the ground. Fuck this. I’m sick of listening to lies. Kill or be killed. Johnny Deadslayer.

  “And I really don’t want you bleeding all over my truck, Herb,” Butch finishes.

  He pulls the trigger of the pistol. A bullet strikes the road, taking a chunk of the yellow line with it, and sending my Midnight Special careening out of reach.

  “Don’t be a hero, kid,” he says to me. “Take your girls and your friend here and get the hell out of Sharon before I have to kill you all.”

  I am wise enough to back up. Without a weapon, I am useless and Darlene is dead.

  Unfortunately, Norm is not as wise as me. He never has been. He’s a hothead…I think I’ve mentioned that before.

  He grabs his gun, drops to his knees, and rolls to the side. His gun goes off, missing Butch. It whines off of the truck’s bulletproof windshield. The soldiers raise there weapons and for a moment, I think I see their muzzles flashing and I think I hear the roars. But they don’t. Writer's imagination gone wild.

  They don’t have permission.

  This is Butch’s fight now.

  He raises his pistol.

  “Norm — ” but the bark of the gun cuts me off.

  It’s all in slow motion. The finger squeezing, the slide jerking back, the explosion from the barrel, and finally the bullet slicing through the air and burying itself into Norm’s leg. It hits him hard enough to drive him over the curb, where he lands among the dead zombies.

  I start to run toward him, but Darlene grabs me. We look at each other, and the look she gives me is one of defeat, her eyes drooping, mouth a thin line.

  “Next on
e is going in his skull,” Butch Hazard says. I am surprised at how steady his voice is. He looks at us, and a wave of rage grips me. I’m shaking, I feel the heat pulsing through my body. “Now, Herbert, let’s go.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re a man of morals, right?”

  Butch narrows his eyes at me, but there’s a smile on his face. He is in a jovial mood, I think. I doubt anyone ever opposes him.

  He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he points the pistol at me, and raises his other hand to the soldiers behind him. It’s a signal. I know this because they all raise their assault rifles. “When I’m on the clock, I’m anything I have to be,” he says.

  As I stare down the barrels of five guns, I realize I really need to start keeping my mouth shut.

  Nineteen

  Next thing I know, I’m on my knees, but I’m not begging for my life. There is only one gun aimed on me, and it’s Butch’s. He has waved his soldiers down, said, “No, I want to do this myself,” and here I am, shaking…with fear, with rage.

  Darlene is sobbing.

  “Ooh, Spike is gonna like you,” Butch says. “The mouthy one, too.”

  Abby grabs Darlene and pulls her away from me. But Darlene has a handful of my shirt, and she rips a piece of the fabric free.

  All my muscles tense. I feel like I am drowning, like I am in a nightmare and I’m trying to run but getting nowhere.

  Butch laughs.

  All this time, I’m not worrying about myself, about the bullet about to be lodged in my brain — that is, if Butch is feeling generous, but I doubt it, I’ll just wind up bleeding out like a stuck pig while the zombies follow the noise and devour me. I don’t care if that’s the case. All I care about is Darlene getting away, of Norm living through this, and Abby being able to grow up. She’s only nineteen.

  “I would’ve turned my back on this whole situation if you would’ve given me Herb.” Butch shakes his head. “Now, that would’ve been the wisest choice, my friends. If you went that route, I wouldn’t have to blow your heads off.”

  “Fuck you,” Norm says. He is weak, barely hanging on.

  Butch laughs again. “I love the fight, really. It’s admirable.”

  He look to me, stares down the sight. I am sweating. The gun is cool against my skin.

  “Any last words?”

  “Fuck you,” I say, echoing Norm.

  “Wrong answer.”

  I close my eyes, it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s more of a reflex. Preparation for my brains to be blown out.

  And a shot goes off, but it’s not as loud as I think.

  Then I hear screaming. A man screaming, but gurgling as well, as if a great monster is dragging him into the ocean’s depths.

  I open my eyes, my jaw drops at what I see.

  Butch Hazard is distracted. Everyone is.

  One of the soldiers, the one wearing sunglasses with a goatee, has dropped his assault rifle. He clutches at a burning hole in his throat. Blood spurts from between his fingers. The other soldiers watch him, their faces distorted with fear and confusion, but they won’t break rank anymore than they have.

  Another shot follows. This one is much closer, I can practically hear the bullet whoosh by my head. A couple inches to the left and I’d be missing a chunk of my scalp. Butch jerks at the exact moment of the second shot.

  He’s good.

  He anticipated the bullet slamming into his chest, and by jerking, it only manages to clip his shoulder. There’s a small spray of blood then the slug thumping into the Army truck.

  I wish it would’ve hit him in the heart. Doesn’t matter. He is momentarily distracted. Now’s our chance.

  I turn to Darlene and grab her. Abby, helps me to my feet. “Go!” I say.

  We have a guardian angel. We can run and never look back.

  “What about you?” Abby says.

  “I got Norm.”

  She nods, and joins Herb into helping Darlene to her feet. They clear the street just as another shot hits the truck, dinging the metal, causing it to rock.

  Norm is crawling toward us, but it’s not easy-going with one hand clamped over his thigh.

  Another shot rings out.

  Another soldier falls.

  The others of Butch’s army have their assault rifles aimed, sweeping the town beyond. Not shooting because they don’t know where these shots are coming from.

  Butch doesn’t even look in our direction. He raises the hand up that holds his pistol to shield his eyes from sun. He has taken cover behind one of the open truck doors, peeking through the glass.

  Two more shots, and two more soldiers fall. All that is left is him and the female.

  I grab Norm around the waist, try to help him to his feet.

  “Hide all you want,” Butch bellows. “Or come down and face me like a man, you pussy!” He aims in the general direction of the shots and lets loose a couple of his own. Down the street is a couple of higher buildings. A perfect sniper’s nest.

  Norm and I make our way across the street. “Fuck,” he says. “I could use some of that booze.”

  “You better kill me now!” Butch screams. “If I find you I’m going to f — ”

  The female soldier finally breaks rank. She throws the truck’s door open just as a bullet hammers into the metal. Then she dives inside, taking cover behind the dashboard.

  Norm and I are almost to Abby when Butch shoots again. This time at me.

  All of a sudden my arm is on fire. It’s like something has bitten me, has clamped their big, serrated teeth around my forearm and won’t let go. My heart stops for a second as I think of a zombie using my forearm as a chew toy, but we are not by any zombies. We are in the middle of the street, and when I look down at the flaring pain, I don’t see a rotting skull. I see blood and a fresh bullet wound. The bullet came from Butch’s gun. The bastard has shot me.

  Darlene must see this, see me grabbing my arm like it’s about detach, because she breaks free from Abby’s grip and runs out to meet us halfway in the road like I had done no less than twenty minutes ago to shield her and Abby from this bastard Butch Hazard’s bullets.

  Butch Hazard is a blur. He moves across the street like a black cloud filled with lightning. Darlene is out of my hands before I can even fully grasp her. She screams.

  I scream.

  Then there’s a gun to her head and tears running down her face. “Jack!” she yells.

  “You want to shoot me, you’ll have to shoot both of us,” Butch says to the empty street.

  There is no gunshot.

  But my rage, the fireworks inside of my head, are loud enough to drown out any gun. I rush him, leaving Norm where he is.

  Butch holds the gun to Darlene’s temple, one arm tucked under her chin as if he’s putting her in a sleeper hold. She’s still screaming, but the sound is muted and choked out.

  I am about five feet away from them when I stop.

  “No, not any farther,” he says. “Fucking crazy bastard. You’re just as bad as the dead, all of you! Thinking this was gonna be an easy day, boy, am I — ”

  He’s cut off by a scream. It takes me a moment to realize the scream comes from his mouth. Darlene thrashes in his grip. I see her mouth gushing with red. Blood wells from little grooves in Butch’s Hazard’s flesh.

  “Fuckin bitch!” he screams, but he let’s go.

  The sun is blazing and the picture is crystal clear — Ultra HD. She has bitten him in the soft spot of skin between his index finger and his thumb on his left hand. I see it all. The pink tendons, a flash of white bone, and blood. Lots of blood.

  Darlene breaks free, and she’s smart enough to not run toward me this time. She takes off in the direction of Abby and Herbert.

  Norm is hobbling in that direction, leaving a trail of red behind as he does so. “Come on, Jack,” he says. “Let’s get the fuck — ”

  But the fireworks in my head don’t let him finish that sentence. The way I see Butch Hazard is the way I saw Freddy and Pat Huber
, the way I see the millions of zombies who roam around and threaten my family each day.

  I see them as bullies.

  I don’t take shit from bullies anymore.

  I rush Butch Hazard. Me, a kid from the now deceased Woodhaven, Ohio, versus some crazy war general with a chip on his shoulder and murder in his eyes.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind.

  I start with a kick. It’s not a powerful kick by any means, but it doesn’t have to be. My booted foot clobbers his kneecap. Something snaps and crackles as Butch stumbles and falls to the concrete behind the truck’s open door. The gun scatters across the road. I follow it’s trajectory for a moment, then look back to Butch.

  Inside the truck, I hear whimpering. The female soldier is on the floor between the dashboard and the seats. Her gun is for the taking, and she is too scared and distracted.

  I reach for it, my hands barely brushing the metal as —

  Big mistake.

  Rage has caused me to underestimate my opponent.

  Butch Hazard grabs my ankle and he twists. Blood from his bite wound sprays in a mist, rotates with the turn. I hear a pop. Then I’m falling and eating asphalt. I hit the ground hard enough to make me wheeze. Ribs I hurt almost a year ago from my fall off the roof of the Woodhaven Rec Center burn with pain.

  Butch Hazard stands over me. I don’t know how he stands, but he does. His eyes bug out from his face, bloodshot, filled with rage and agony, a fire I’ve never seen in my life, nor do I want to ever see again.

  The pain in my arm, my shot arm, is burning something fierce.

  “You’re gonna have to kill me!” Butch shouts.

  I don’t know if he’s shouting at me.

  I’m hoping, praying, wishing for whoever is shooting from the buildings behind me to shoot one time.

  One more damn time.

  But sometimes, you got to do things on your own. You can’t wait for things to fix themselves.

  And if I’m going to die, I’m going to die fighting.

  Twenty

  Both fortunately and unfortunately, my older brother won’t let me do it.