A Girl a Dog and Zombies on the Munch

by David Robbins

  Courtney felt a wave of worry wash over her. “Gar, don’t make them mad. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Ah, ain’t that sweet?” Malik said.

  Luther placed his hand on the Colt at his waist.

  “I don't’ care how mad they get,” Gar said. “Where I come from, men don’t take being insulted. They stand up for themselves.” He regarded Luther with contempt. “Best fighter in the whole prison, huh? Who’d you fight? The nurses and secretaries?”

  Luther took a step toward him.

  In fear for Gar’s life, Courtney gave a powerful wrench on her wrists and suddenly her right arm, slick with her blood, slipped free. Without thinking she threw herself at Luther and punched him on the jaw. He barely seemed to feel it, but was riveted in surprise. She swung again, then lunged at the holster to try and wrest the pistol free.

  Luther exploded. His fist slammed into her belly, doubling her over. Staggering, she was unable to protect herself as his other fist swung up and around. There was a sharp blow to her head, and the next she knew, she was on her knees, bile in her mouth. The world spun crazily.

  “Courtney!” Sansa screamed.

  Her vision clearing, Courtney looked up. Convicts were grinning and laughing in amusement.

  “Grab her,” Luther said.

  Spit and another man leaped to obey, each seizing one of Courtney’s arms and yanking her to her feet.

  Luther stepped up and jabbed her in the gut, hard. “You just made up my mind for me. We can use some entertainment, right boys?”

  There were nods and yips of assent.

  Luther cupped Courtney’s chin, and squeezed. “So I’m not only going to fight your boyfriend. I’m going to fight you, too. The both of you at the same time.” He gave her head a violent shake. “I’m going to bust your bones.”

  With a lot of whooping and hollering, the convicts formed a circle to watch the fun.

  The pair holding Courtney let go and she fell to her knees.

  Luther unbuckled Gar’s gunbelt and handed it to Spit. Then he went into a boxing stance and threw several short, powerful punches and jabs.

  “Looking good, bro!” Malik said.

  “Cut me loose,” Gar said.

  “When I’m good and ready,” Luther said. He stepped up to Courtney and jabbed in the chest. “I bet you feel pretty stupid right about now.”

  “Go to hell,” Courtney said.

  “You shouldn’t have attacked me. Say you’re sorry and I’ll let you off the hook.”

  “Go to hell twice,” Courtney said.

  Luther scowled. “You’re one stupid bitch, you know that? I’m giving you a chance to bow out.”

  Malik pointed his knife at her. “Why are you being so nice to this cow?”

  “I beat on her, she won’t be in much shape to be poked later.”

  “Oh. Thought maybe you were going soft,” Malik said.

  “Not in this life,” Luther said. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed Courtney by the hair, twisted, and flung her to the ground.

  Pain spiked Courtney’s neck and side but she refused to give them the satisfaction of showing it. Gritting her teeth, she sat up. “We’ve started already? You didn’t say one, two, three, go.”

  “I’m just loosening up for the main event,” Luther said.

  Gar was straining against his ropes in fury. “Try that on me, you miserable wretch.”

  Luther smirked. “Malik, cut the bastard loose.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Squatting in front of Gar, Malik flashed his knife close to Gar’s face, then pretended to stab him in the eye. Gar didn’t flinch. Chuckling, Malik reached around, and with a single stroke, severed the rope. Slowly rising, he held his knife as if daring Gar to try something.

  “Come on,” Malik mocked him. “You know you want to.”

  Gar was glaring at Luther. “It’s him I want. Not his sock puppet.”

  “What the hell did you call me?” Malik said.

  “He’s trying to set us against each other,” Luther said. “Ignore him. He won’t be breathing much longer.”

  “Why don’t you let me do him and you do the girl?” Malik said.

  “It was me he insulted,” Luther said. “It was me she hit.”

  Reluctantly, Malik backed away. “Don’t kill him Luth. Leave some for me.”

  Another convict exclaimed, “Can we get to it, already? The rate things are going, it’ll be midnight before anyone throws a punch.”

  “What your hurry, Dyson?” Luther said. He didn’t wait for an answer but planted himself about a yard from Gar and placed his hands on his hips. “On your feet, punk.”

  Gar rose, shaking his arms and legs as he did. “Cut off my circulation.”

  “Cry us a river,” Luther said.

  Courtney was waiting her chance. Not at Luther, at a gun. If she could get her hands on one, she could turn the tables, maybe keep the convicts covered while Gar freed Sally Ann and Sansa.

  The one called Dyson was closest. He had a shotgun, cradled protectively in both arms.

  Courtney decided the youngest of the convicts, to her right, was her best bet. He was absorbed in what Luther was doing, and holding a rifle loose in one hand.

  Luther glowered at Gar and then at her. “Let’s dance.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Courtney kept forgetting how quick Gar was. When he drew, his hand was always a blur. And sometimes when he moved, like now, he was almost too fast for the eye to follow.

  Gar swept in at Luther with his fists cocked as if he were going to box but at the last split-instant he tucked at the knees and hit Luther in the knee.

  Luther cried out and his leg nearly buckled. He swiveled, flicked a right that Gar sidestepped, and drove a straight left at Gar’s head. Gar ducked, pivoted, and struck Luther twice.

  Luther was bigger and Luther had much more muscle but he was molasses compared to the Gar.

  Again Luther swung, his blow passing over Gar’s shoulder. Gar retaliated with a sharp jab to Luther’s cheek that jarred him, and followed through with a looping right.

  Luther skipped back out of reach.

  To a man, the convicts were glued to the fight. Their faces glowed with a lust for violence.

  Gar circled, and Luther mirrored him.

  Luther spat and said, “You’ve been lucky so far.”

  Gar didn’t respond.

  “It won’t last,” Luther said.

  “Do you ever shut up?” Gar said.

  Luther reddened, and waded in with his fists flying. He was seeking to overpower Gar, to batter him into submission, but once again Gar was too quick. Gar took a punch to the arm and another to the ribs but he evaded most of the blow, twisting and dodging and ducking.

  The convicts were cheering for Luther, some pumping their arms and waving their weapons.

  Courtney’s moment had come. No one was paying attention to her. She sidled toward the young one with the rifle—only to have him level the barrel at her and shake his head in warning.

  Courtney froze.

  Luther was trying to slip in close to Gar but Gar was proving to be as elusive as a ghost.

  Luther’s frustration mounted; his swings became wider and wilder.

  Gar tripped. To Courtney, it looked as if he fell over his own feet. He ended up on his knees with one hand flat on the ground.

  Luther sprang in and raised his right fist like a club.

  Gar thrust his free arm up as if to ward off the blow. But it was a ruse.

  As Luther’s fist swept down, Gar threw himself at Spit. Caught flat-footed, all Spit could do was bleat in amazement as Gar slammed his left fist into Spit’s middle. Spit doubled over.

  In that instant, Gar’s right hand flashed to his pearl-handled Colt in the holster that Spit held.

  Gar spun, and as he started his turn, he fanned his Colt. His first shot caught Luther high in the forehead and snapped his head back. His second drilled Malik in the chest. His third felled Dyso
n. Gar continued to turn—but Malik hadn’t gone down, and was rushing at him with the knife. Gar shot him in the throat. Still Malik stayed on his feet. Gar fanned his pistol yet again and Malik’s eye vanished in a geyser of gore.

  Five shots, in less than half as many seconds.

  The rest of the convicts galvanized to life and closed on Gar.

  “No!” Courtney screamed. She threw herself at a pair of convicts and rained punches at their backs and heads to keep them from getting to Gar. One of them backhanded her and tottered.

  Someone wrapped his hands around her neck.

  It was Spit. His mouth twisted in glee, he bore her to the ground.

  Courtney lost sight of Gar. He was down, being bludgeoned by four or five convicts at once. They weren’t going to shoot him. They were going to beat him to death.

  Sansa shrieked in terror.

  Sally Ann yelled something.

  And then the world was lit by lightning.

  The flash was so bright, it hurt Courtney’s eyes. For a moment she thought it had come from the sky.

  But no.

  A towering man had joined the melee, a man with golden hair and a golden beard, dressed in skintight black. It was Soren Anderson, the Warrior from the compound. In his right hand he wielded a hammer unlike any hammer ever made, and from it shot bolts and arcs of sizzling electricity. He pointed it at a convict holding a revolver and lightning leaped from the hammer to the revolver and up the convict’s arm. The convict screamed, his eyes bulging, as his body whipped in a bow and smoke rose from his flesh.

  Another convict rushed to his friend’s aid, jerking a rifle to his shoulder intending to shoot the golden-haired giant in the back.

  From out of the darkness appeared a tall man in a trench coat. He had black hair and the bluest of blues eyes, and a submachine gun. He fired a short burst, riddling the convict from throat to groin.

  At the same moment a third Warrior materialized. Dressed in fatigues and combat boots, he let loose with autofire.

  A trio of convicts had turned on Soren Anderson. Instead of striking them, he thrust his hammer at the heavens and bellowed “Odin!” His thumb pressed a large stud on the handle, and crackling arcs of death leaped from the hammer’s head to the heads of the three convicts. They died in midstep, blistered and shrieking.

  The man in the trench coat fired.

  So did the man in fatigues.

  And just like that, it was over.

  Courtney took in the sight of convicts sprawled in death. She saw movement under two of the bodies. “Gar!”

  Spattered with blood and marked with bruises, his face was a testament to his struggle. He pushed one of the bodies off, mustered a smile, and said wearily, “Courts.”

  Courtney rolled the second body away, and dropped to a knee. “Let me help you.”

  Gar gestured, as if to wave her away. “No, I’m not helpless....” He stopped, and gave her a strange look. “Sure. It’s you and me now, isn’t it?”

  A lump formed in Courtney’s throat. She got him to his feet and kept an arm around him while he steadied himself. There was a nasty knot on his temple and his bottom lip had been pulped. “They beat the snot out of you.”

  “They tried,” Gar said.

  The man in the trench coat came over. “I’m Slayne. Head Warrior,” he announced. “Diana told me what you whispered to her. A few of us were worried it might be a trick but I decided to come anyway.”

  Soren Anderson said, “I told him if he didn’t, I would come alone.”

  “That’s right, Thor,” said the man in fatigues, grinning. “Claim all the credit.”

  “This is Robert Montoya,” Slayne introduced him.

  “Thor?” Gar said in confusion.

  “Each of us has a code name,” Slayne said, and pointed at Soren. “Thor.” He pointed at Montoya. “Ricco.” He tapped his own chest. “I go by Solo.” He paused, then added, “Military units use codes all the time.”

  Sally Ann picked that moment to call out, “Hello? Two people still tied up over here!”

  Montoya drew a boot knife and went to help them.

  “Thank you for saving us,” Courtney said.

  Cradling his SMG, Slayne said, “Our pleasure. But now we have another issue. What to do with you?”

  “We were hoping we could become part of your group,” Courtney said.

  “I know,” Slayne said. “You and a lot of other people.”

  “So what are you saying?” Courtney said. “You save us, then leave us on our own?”

  Soren Anderson said, “Were it up to me I would take you in.”

  “You’d take in everybody if you could,” Robert Montoya said.

  Soren nodded. “The god of thunder is not only the storm bringer. He has a generous heart.”

  “God of thunder?” Gar said.

  “Don’t ask,” Slayne said. He scanned the bodies and gazed up at the stars and apparently came to a decision.

  “All right. We’ll take the four of you back with us...”

  “What about our dog, mister?” Sansa said. She had gone to Gaga and was hugging her.

  “Oh for.....,” Slayne said.

  “Please,” Sansa said.

  “How can we refuse the appeal of so tender a child?” Soren Anderson said.

  Slayne raised a hand to his nose and pinched it as if in pain. “Sure. What’s one more?”

  Montoya nudged Soren. “Looks like mister killing machine has a heart, after all.”

  They laughed.

  “You people are strange,” Sally Ann said.

  “As I was saying,” Slayne said. “We’ll take you back with us. But whether you get to stay will be up to our Leader.”

  “God, I hope he lets us,” Sally Ann said.

  “You and me, both,” Courtney said.

  CHAPTER 33

  They called themselves the Family. They called their compound the Home.

  The concrete structures Courtney had seen from afar were called Blocks, and a wide open area between them was known as the Commons.

  It was there that Courtney found herself, along with Gar, Sally Ann, Sansa and Gaga. And the entire Family.

  Kurt Carpenter had called them together to decide the fate of Courtney and her friends.

  Courtney was all too aware of the many eyes fastened on them, studying her and the others. She stood straight and held her head high, refusing to show her worry. She was scared to death they would be rejected, that they could be cast out.

  More than anything in the world, Courtney wanted to be accepted by these people. To be admitted into their Home. To be safe and secure again. Or as safe as it was possible to be in a world turned into an insane asylum.

  Kurt Carpenter cleared his throat. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression kindly yet somber. “Everyone!” he began. “Most of you know why this meeting has been called. These four—,” and he gestured at Courtney and her companions, “seek admittance to the Home. I’ve explained that all of you here didn’t simply show up at the drawbridge and knock to be let in.”

  Some of the Family smiled and grinned.

  Carpenter resumed. “Everyone here was admitted by invitation only. Each of you was chosen because of specific abilities or some other factor that would contribute to our mutual welfare and survival.”

  Courtney’s dread grew. She was certain he was going to say no.

  Carpenter walked in a small circle, thoughtfully regarding his listeners. “Perhaps their arrival is fortuitous. They are certainly not the first. We have only to look beyond our walls where scores more are hoping to join us.”

  “We can’t admit everybody,” a man spoke up.

  “There just isn’t room,” a woman said.

  Kurt Carpenter looked past the Blocks at a tract of woods and cabins. “True. But we are nowhere near full capacity. And our supplies are such that we could take in quite a few more without undo strain on our resources.”

&nbs
p; “What are you saying?” a man who appeared to be Native American asked.

  “That perhaps I should rethink my policy,” Kurt Carpenter said. He seemed to catch himself, and smiled. “Correction. Our policy. While I have agreed to bear the title of your Leader, all major decisions must be by consensus. Everyone must have a say. So we will take a vote. When I point at you, say yea or nay.”

  Carpenter turned and smiled at Courtney. “I’ll go first. My vote is yea. And I’ll tell you why.” He pointed at her. “This young lady warned us of an impending attack. She put our welfare above the safety of herself and her friends. That shows courage, and something else.” He gazed out over the Family. “It shows us that she is willing to sacrifice herself for others. It shows compassion. It shows nobility of character.”

  Courtney self-consciously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. In her estimation, he was making more of it than there was.

  “As for the rest,” Carpenter said, “the other young lady was an honors student at her high school, and the young man, I am informed, has impressed even Mr. Slayne with his ability with a revolver.”

  There was laughter"

  “So let’s take the roll,” Carpenter said. He pointed at the woman named Diana.

  “Yea,” she said.

  Carpenter pointed at Slayne, who frowned but said, “Yea.”

  Carpenter pointed at Soren Anderson, who thrust his hammer aloft.

  “Yea, by Odin!”

  At Montoya.

  “Yeah.”

  And so it went. In the end, the tally was unanimous.

  Courtney suspected that was due to Carpenter’s influence. She couldn’t help herself when he faced them and announced, “There you have it.” She impulsively threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  Family members came forward to congratulate them.

  To Courtney, their friendliness was a tonic. For the first time since the war broke out, she was truly and genuinely happy.

  Nor was she alone. Sally Ann was beaming. Sansa had found children her own age. Gaga was being petted.

  Courtney turned to Gar and clasped his hands in hers. “We did it!”