The Dead Won't Die

by Glass, J. B.

  Sheila put the bottom of one sneakered foot flat against the fence section and flexed her thigh. The section of fence creaked... and then, with a kind of tired metallic snapping sound, gave way.

  Sheila turned sideways and edged through, keeping her back to the shrubbery and looking out over the common parking lot that led up to the Bardstown Kroger's, around a hundred feet away.

  In the dim all but darkness of nearing night, she could just make out the bulk of the Kroger's supermarket in the distance. Vehicles of various sizes ranging from motorcycles all the way up to 18 wheel tractor trailers were scattered around the common parking lot that ran behind the different buildings between Kroger's and the Walgreen's where Sheila's family had taken refuge.

  She saw nothing humanoid moving, but could hear a lot of screaming and moaning coming from the direction of Bardstown Road, where most of the zombies that had been behind their Walgreen's had fled to. The flickering of red, yellow, and orange flames could be clearly seen in that direction, too.

  And was that... was that the sound of engines? Coming from the direction of Kroger's?

  She had to see.

  Cautiously, she moved forward, keeping low but moving as fast as she could, into the cover of a dingy, rusted out, beat up old pick up that somebody had parked back there, long long ago, in another world, it seemed.

  Moving around the pick-up, she was scanning, picking out the next vehicle she'd move to, and the next --

  Something grabbed her around the ankle.

  Sheila's heart nearly pounded its way out of her chest. She somehow managed to turn a shriek of terror into a low moan and looked down.

  A pallid, dirt encrusted hand with long, jagged, black fingernails was wrapped around her ankle, and a filthy face surrounded by spikes of overgrown hair and whiskers stared up at her with ravenous eyes. A mouth full of uneven, almost spike like teeth opened to scream in triumph. A zombie had, for some reason, been lying on the ground under the truck, and reached out and grabbed her, and now it was going to scream and draw all the hordes of zombies from the street back onto her.

  It didn't seem to Sheila like she thought about it at all, although she must have, as it certainly wasn't anything she'd practiced.

  With her left hand, she turned the wheel on the oxygen tank that started oxygen flowing out through the rubber hose affixed to the nozzle. With her right hand, she grabbed the end of the rubber hose. She crouched down and pointed the hose directly at the creature's face.

  With a hiss, pure oxygen started to rush out of the end of the tube, at high enough pressure so that Sheila could see the filthy hair around the creature's mouth being pushed back by it.

  It was too dark for Sheila to see what happened next with any clarity. What it looked like was some sort of strange time lapse nature film, where a gourd of some sort is left out in the weather to rot. Under the flow of the oxygen, the zombie's facial features seemed to instantly turn darker... and then, cave inward, like a rotten pumpkin collapsing into itself. The ghoul's scream became a susurrating hiss no louder than the hiss of the escaping oxygen itself. The dead creature's hair seemed to dry up and blow away. Its eyes collapsed inward with mild plopping sounds. Its head vanished in a shower of dark, scabrous flakes.

  The clawed hand around Sheila's ankle spasmed open, twitched several times, visibly darkened... and then seemed to just scale away on the night breeze. Sheila might have seen small puffs of dust against the dark tarmac, but she could never be sure.

  Sheila stood there for a second, trembling as the adrenaline torqued through her bloodstream, trying to get her breathing under control.

  Finally, she lifted the rubber tube to her face and took a deep breath.

  Her head cleared.

  Well, THAT had certainly worked...

  She looked back towards the Kroger's.

  Something that looked like... a snowplow?... had come around into the back parking lot, headlights sending bright purplish halogen beams out into the darkness, causing the parked vehicles to cast long pitch black shadows stretching away into the night, picking out several zombies shambling at a fast trot in its direction.

  From the back of the snowplow, where a load of salt would normally have been carried, someone leaned out and pointed something at the charging group of zombies. A spout of flame licked out -- and the zombies were nothing but a half a dozen sullenly burning grease fires.

  The snowplow parked next to the rear entrance, right across where the doors were, blocking them. Sheila heard voices shouting what sounded like orders. People were jumping down out of the back of the snowplow carrying what looked like large rolls of -- wire? -- in their arms.

  It was fencing.

  As Sheila watched, they erected fences across the back of the Kroger's in less than five minutes. There were no wasted moves. Everything was very coordinated, very efficient. This seemed to be a routine that had been practiced many times.

  She could hear screaming, and see flares of orangish yellow and red, coming from the other side of the Kroger's, on Bardstown Road. They -- whoever they were -- were probably securing that side of it, too.

  Now Sheila could hear one loud voice -- female, but very loud -- screaming out orders: "You scum want to eat, move your asses! I said MOVE! The General wants this base of operations secured in ten minutes or somebody gets fed to the geeks tonight and it ain't gonna be Mama Cass!"

  Holy shit, Sheila thought numbly to herself. The Mamas and the Papas have taken over my neighborhood grocery store.

  They had new neighbors, it seemed.

  Sheila felt her stomach sink. Appearances could be deceiving... but it didn't sound like these people, whoever they were, were particularly friendly.

  She didn't think it would be very long before they spotted the helicopter parked behind the Walgreen's, just down the road. And sent a patrol out to investigate.

  Sheila turned to head home and make her report.

  She had no idea what they were going to do after that.

  iv.

  The General stepped down out of his troop carrier -- a one-time salt carrying dump truck with a large snow plow attached to its front he'd had to requisition from the Louisville Metro Garage when this crisis had first erupted. He reached a hand behind him up to his daughter Dorothy, who looked down at him adoringly as she took his hand and leaned on his arm and allowed him to lower her easily to the ground. Everything the General did, he did for Dorothy, and you'd best believe it, sir or ma'am. You'd just best believe it, or get the hell out of the General's way. Yessirree BOB.

  The Kroger's was largely intact, which was excellent, but a faithful man could expect nothing less from the Lord. The General had, in addition to Dorothy, eight armed officer class, thirty nine enlisted, and fourteen dependents in his Ad Hoc Christian End Times Survival Battalion. They could eat a powerful lot o' vittles when they all sat down to chow together, yes they could.

  Now, this y'ar supermarket had at one time had one of them real fancy produce departments and when Jesus had come down and gotten all His lambs a month or so ago (judiciously leaving the General right where he was, because Jesus had to leave SOMEbody down here to sort out this mess and guide the new flock of Left Behind End Time believers safely to Judgment in seven years time, yes sir He did), well, that produce department had just been left to rot. The General had seen a few of these grocery stores since Rapture Day and it was all the same -- infested with soulless Satan thralls milling around like goddam no good lib'rul Demmi-crats chasing after the rats and such like that were drawn by all that there rotten fruit and veggies.

  Usually there were thirty or forty Satan thralls in every store... well... this one had had thirty two in it. And the first supermarket that the AHCETSB had hit, another Kroger's closer to downtown Louisville, had had 23 that had to be cleaned out before the General and his troops could settle in and eat it bare.

  Now, that ValuMarket just down Bardstown Road that had been the AHCETSB's second stop, a week or so back... that had been d
ifferent. There's been a group of godless lib'rul atheists squattin' in there, eatin' up all the supplies God had clearly intended for the flock of Lambs under the guidance and protection of the General. Some of 'em had even been homosexuals! Which the General had only found out after the AHCETSB had cleared the parking lot with a few flamethrower blasts, fenced it off, and then pacified the ValuMarket itself with a few tear gas canisters. Those no good lib'rul atheists had come stumblin' out then with they hands up over they heads, they shor'nuff had. And the General had made 'em the offer he always made -- join up with the AHCETSB as unarmed enlisted and work they way to Glory! Praise GOD!

  But it had been pretty obvious just from how two of 'em spoke and acted that they were possessed of unnatural affections for each other, and when one of the General's officers... Captain Cass, he believed it was, a good woman with strong faith and a real way with the enlisted under her command, too... had asked 'em about it, they'd even said they was married! To each other! GAY married, in one o'them lib'rul northern states whut allowed all such sort of violations of God's law!

  So the General had had no choice but to have them unnatural queerboys turned out into the road for the geeks to sort out. Yes sir. Because that was God's will for all them godless fornicating faggots, yes sir it was. It was right in the Bible. You shalt not suffer a limp-wristed fairy to live. It was in there somewhere, the General knew. Just like that one Bible quote that there good God fearin' Congressman had been spoutin' before the Rapture about the shiftless folks who were cheatin' on Welfare and such... "He who does not work, he shall not eat." Yes, sir, the Good Book had wisdom for all occasions.

  And here was Captain Cass herself, throwin' the General a crisp salute. "Sir! We've secured the new settlement, sir. Enlisted are cleaning out the produce quadrant and the upper area has been set aside as your personal quarters, sir!"

  "Escort mah daughter there, Captain," the General said. "Ah believe I'll take a li'l tour of the new settlement b'fore I turn in tonight."

  Captain Cass' eyes... pretty brown eyes, in a face that even the General had to admit was a li'l bit more unfortunately homely... pig-like, if you wanted to be brutally honest -- than most people were gonna be comfortable with, here on Earth... gleamed. Captain Cass had an honest... the General thought it was almost motherly... fondness for li'l ol' Dorothy, and the General couldn't blame her none, neither. His little girl was a pip, anyone could see it... beautiful, smart, and full of the grace of Jesus. She knew her place, did Dorothy, knew her place in God's plan and was just as sweet and humble a little girl as anyone could want. Everything the General did he did for his Dorothy, yes sir.

  Captain Cass took Dorothy's arm. Dorothy gave her father one more adoring glance, and then allowed the Captain to lead her off to the right, where the stairs to the upper section that the General would be using as his personal quarters were located.

  The rest of the troops would bivouac down here, of course, as was only fittin'. The officers would get first choice of whatever supplies there might be that could be converted into comfortable bedding -- at the ValuMarket, the best that could be had was layers of crushed down cardboard boxes, but even that was better than the cold hard tiles that the enlisted had had to sleep on, all huddled up like sheep to keep each other warm with their body heat -- and wouldn't those two queerboys have liked that! No, sir, they had to go.

  Anyway -- the General pulled his mind back to the matter at hand with an effort of will, more and more lately, since the Rapture, he'd found his mind wanderin', but the End Times were strange times and God couldn't expect a man to function in 'em without a few little stutter steps here or there, now, could He? No sir He couldn't -- anyway, the General had seen a display of expensive wooden lawn furniture with detachable cushions off to the right as he'd come into the store. If there was a display, there'd be more of those things back in the store room or out on the shelves somewhere, and those cushions would be a fine thing to have. The General would grab a stack for him and Dorothy to lay themselves down on upstairs, and the rest could be divided up amongst the officers. Then the enlisted and they dependents could have all the crushed down cardboard bedding they might want! Yes sir, it was gonna be Happy Days at this here store, the General was sure... at least, until the AHCETSB ate up all the food at this place and they had to hit the road again.

  But no need to worry about that now... or later, really. The Lord had provided for His faithful and He would continue to provide, yes sir, you could take that to the bank. Or you could have, a month or so ago. Now, you just had to hold it in your heart as an article of faith. Yes sir that was what you had to do.

  The General started his tour over in what had once been the produce area. The smells coming from this particular region of the store were not pleasant at all, but the General was happy to see that some officer had found the floor cleanin' supplies and the aromas of rotten food were bein' quickly subsumed by the more honest smells of Mr. Clean and Fantastik and Formula 409. Nothin' the General liked better than the smell of clean. Well, maybe the smell Dorothy gave off sometimes when they were alone and she was really excited for him, that good clean musky smell of a female in heat for her man, yes sir. But next to that, the smell of somethin' filthy gettin' clean for the Lord, that was the best smell in the world.

  The enlisted men and women over here were doin' a good enough job, some baggin' up the rotten refuse and draggin' it off to the back of the store, while others scrubbed away at the floor and the fixtures, gettin' up all that nasty moldy sticky slime that rotten fruits and veggies always left behind. There were two armed officers supervisin' the work, Captain Jorgenson and Lieutenant Blackface. (The Lieutenant had actually been possessed of some other name prior to the Rapture, when the General was sure he'd been hangin' with his homies on some street corner slingin' dope for some gang and pimpin' out his mama... the General knew this was what had been goin' on before the End Times started because he'd seen documentaries about it on the Christian Broadcasting Network, yes he had. But now the Lieutenant was the only African American officer that the AHCETSB had, and to show he had been reborn in Jesus, the General had christened him Lieutenant Blackface. And the Lieutenant had thanked the General for it, yes sir he had.)

  And now it was the lieutenant himself walking up to the General with a salute nearly the equal of Captain Cass' for snappiness. "SUH!" Lieutenant Blackface said. "We have this area secured and are getting it squared away with alacrity SUH!"

  "Ah, Ah say, Ah can see that, Lieutenant," the General responded. "Good job tha'r, boy. Real good job."

  One of the things the General enjoyed the most about the End Times was that there was no more of that there dumbass lib'rul political correctness bullhockey, nosirree. If the General wanted to call someone 'boy' or 'girl' or 'spic' or 'kike' or even 'you stupid goddam nigger GET OUTTA THE WAY!!!', well, he could, and that was the end of it. No more of this mincin' around worryin' about people's feelin's getting hurt and all that b.s. No sir! Not in the End Times! In the End Times, men said what they wanted to say and if people didn't like it they could just shut up or hit the road and feed the geeks. That was the name o' that tune, by God and Sonny Jesus. You could take that to the bank.

  "So, then, Lieutenant... expendables taking the new base?" the General asked.

  "SUH," the Lieutenant responded, "only one, suh, the enlisted Magu SUH. We sent him up to pull the geeks out inta the parkin' lot, SUH. They came a'runnin' out and jess jumped all ovuh him an' all we had to do was drop a match in the gas trail, suh. Worked like a cha'm."

  The General nodded. Tactics for clearing a new home base of Satan thrall infestation continued to evolve, of course. . At the first Kroger's, the geeks had come swarmin' out as soon as the Battalion had come rumblin' into the parkin' lot, and the General had lost two good men fightin' em off with broom-torches. And then afterwards, he'd lost another one to geeks hidin' back in the store itself, poppin' out unexpected like.

  Now, the ValuMarket had already been cleared by
the no good lib'rul atheists infestin' it, so lurin' geeks out hadn't been a problem there. But here they'd been able to see, even from a block up the road, quite a number o' geeks wanderin' around behind the plate glass windows. And it was Lieutenant Blackface who'd come up with th'ideer of takin' one of the enlisted... one nobody would miss, like that Hindu Magu, with the big thick glasses everyone called Mr. Magoo... soakin' his clothes down in kerosene, and then sending him up to run back and forth in front of the windows to lure the geeks out into the open.

  The geeks hated fire with a passion, but they weren't smart enough to know what the smell o' gasoline meant. The idea was, they'd come runnin' out and tackle the Judas goat, and then, back in the truck parked fifty feet up the street, one of the officers would toss a match into the gasoline trail the gosh darned Hindu's drippin' clothes had left behind him. And FWOOSH!!!! nothin' but a big pile of bones and ashes for the Good Lord to sort out up in heaven.

  "Make sure that woggie's wife and kid get a good meal tonight," the General said. "Least we can do given his heroic sacrifice for the Lambs of the Lord, fo' sho'." Of course, ol' Mr. Magoo hadn't been wild about the plan; it was only when the Lieutenant had opined that it might work better if his wife and 8 year old son were to accompany him that he'd had gotten at all enthusiastic about it. And even then, he'd had a kinda... what would you call it... resigned look, when the Lieutenant had upended the first can of lighter fluid and started pourin' it all over his little Buddha lovin' head...

  "SUH yes SUH," the Lieutenant replied, throwing another crisp salute. "I will take care of it personally SUH."

  "I'm sure you will you ol' hound dog you," the General replied, with a wink. That woggie fella's wife was a pretty good lookin' woman for one o' them Hindu types, yes sir she was. And The General did not believe in bindin' the mouths o' the kine that trod out the grapes o' wrath. No sir he did not.