COLD FAITH AND ZOMBIES

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  He cracked open an eyelid just wide enough to see the balding man from the car show picture bending over him on the couch, slobbering. Quickly, Paul shut his eye and froze. His blood began pounding in his temples. The man was missing his eyelids and had less of a nose than Michael Jackson. It hovered over Paul, sniffing him like he was a freshly baked turkey just removed from a hot oven on Thanksgiving. Paul’s face was wet with its drool. His mind raced. Where the hell was Dan? He had to scream.

  A long strand of warm saliva oozed from the slug’s festering lips onto Paul’s mouth. He tried not to squirm and casually slipped his right hand down to his holster. He wanted to look again but refused. He had to move. His fingers hit cold hard steel and the car show spook licked Paul’s face again, painting it with another coat of a moist putrid stink.

  Paul tried not to flinch, playing dead like a possum. The impending bite out of his face loomed overhead. The bite he knew would turn him. Maybe he should let it. Let it feed freely and join her. Smoothly, he drew his gun. The thing’s breath smelled like egg farts. Paul opened his eyes and the thing’s rotting mouth sprang open, showing off a barbed ring of spiked teeth. Paul pulled the trigger and the man of the house barreled over onto the living room floor and got right back up, seeping fresh blood from its side. It didn’t seem to care or even notice. Unfinished business consumed the thing as it lunged at Paul. With foggy eyes, he squinted and fired off four rounds. The first three caused it to stammer backwards a step with each shot. The fourth one found the car show guy’s face and made a terrible mess on the living room drapes behind it.

  The backdoor slammed as Dan and Wendy came running into the room.

  Wendy inhaled loudly and cupped her hands over her mouth.

  Dan stared at the lifeless body lying on the living room rug. He turned to Paul with saucer eyes. You could have driven a truck right through his mouth. “Are you okay?”

  Paul jumped up from the couch and wiped the nasty slobber from his face with the Texans blanket. “Can I not get one minute of peace around here?” he yelled, spitting the vial taste out of his mouth. He wondered if sharing slobber with the dumb things could be infectious. “We can’t even take a nap anymore without getting killed!” He angrily threw the blanket to the floor.

  Dan was breathing almost as heavily as Paul.

  “I thought the place was cleared!” Wendy said, looking around the house in an uncertain panic.

  “Where the hell were you guys?”

  “We were just out back for a minute,” Wendy said.

  “Hitting some golf balls,” Dan sputtered.

  “We found a lantern,” she added to no avail.

  “Must’ve been a long minute because that thing was breathin down my neck forever!” he said, holstering his sidearm with authority.

  Wendy and Dan attempted no response, and looked back to the mess on the floor instead with disbelieving eyes.

  Paul dropped back onto the couch with his head in his hands for a few seconds then stood up and kicked in the front of the big screen TV, knocking it off its large stand onto the floor where it shattered into pieces around the fallen corpse. “Can’t even watch TV anymore! There’s no power!” he said, with wild eyes and his chest heaving.

  Silence hung in the air like Sophia’s shadow in his Kohl’s nightmare. Leisurely, it swung back and forth across the room.

  “Can’t even kick back and watch TV anymore,” he said with a more collected tone. “And guess what,” he said, throwing his arms out. “That’s how I spent half of my time. Watching TV and hanging out with my wife. And now I can’t do either one.” He smiled.

  They took their eyes from Paul down to the broken TV, over to the car show ghoul, and back up to Paul again with nothing to say. Nothing they could say.

  “No more fancy dinners, no more movies, no more going to the mall. It’s all over! All of it!” Paul screamed. “And why?”

  Wendy and Dan jumped; looking unconvinced he wouldn’t shoot them next.

  “Because I can’t wake up from this nightmare! That’s why!”

  He towered over the corpse, thinking and sweating. Softly, he nudged the man’s broken body with his right foot and snorted. “But unless this is some kind of a super messed up episode of Scare Tactics, this is the hand we’ve been dealt,” he said, back to the soft voice again. His thoughts automatically refreshed as he went. “And what are the odds? What are the odds we even live to be fifty now?”

  Dan stared at him. “Paul, we’re going to make it, man.”

  “And for what?” Paul screamed. “So we can live on the beach and sing songs about how great God is and start a whole new civilization all over again? Well, laddie-friggin’-da! Good for you, Dan! Have fun with that, because guess what? We’re nothing more than a bunch of glorified cavemen now. We don’t stand a chance!”

  “What else are we supposed to do, Paul?” Wendy said, tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. “Just give up? Hide in the basement all day with the doors locked? Shoot ourselves in the head? There are still good days ahead of us and I refuse to let you take them away from us!”

  His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline and his mouth gaped. “Oh, I’m taking from you? Well that’s funny!” he said, laughing. “Take a good look around, sweetheart, because I’ve lost everything! Everything! What makes you think you have anything I could ever possibly want?” His nostrils flared.

  She bowed her head and sniffed.

  Dan looked from Wendy back to the corpse.

  Paul returned to his calm tone and said, “All I have left now is my high school buddy, some two-bit stripper and a ‘69 Chevelle.”

  Wendy opened her mouth to say something back and changed her mind.

  “And since I don’t have the common sense to just get it over with and kill myself, I’m gonna kill as many of these damn things as I possibly can,” he said through gritted teeth, glaring at the car show carcass. “That’s all I have left.”

  Dan and Wendy stood scared. Paul had hit the boiling point for grieving husbands. Only their breathing and Wendy’s sobs made any kind of a noise. Dan waited for Paul to get it out of his system.

  Paul turned around and tromped down the hallway instead, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. He splashed bottled water onto the filthy face staring back at him in the mirror. Leaning on the counter, he glared at the pasty reflection, not recognizing the man painfully looking back at him. Like pretty much everyone else, the man he used to know was gone and never coming back. He dropped his head and water droplets fell like bombs from the tip of his nose, exploding into the white sink below. One after the other.

  He couldn’t get the taste of that thing out of his mouth. He swished water around and spit, then opened his shaving bag on the counter and pulled out his blue toothbrush next to Sophia’s pink one. He dropped his brush back into the bag and took hers out instead. Tears consumed his vision as he pulled the toothbrush from its clear plastic case. He wiped his eyes and grabbed the toothpaste, wishing he was in that cold grave with her. Anything would be better than this.

  A gunshot made him flinch and drop Sophia’s toothbrush onto the brown bathroom rug below. He drew his Beretta and whipped open the bathroom door. “Now what?” he roared.

  Dan stood in the hallway, staring into the kid’s room with his gun still aimed inside it. He didn’t look at Paul when Paul pushed past him with his gun pointing to the ceiling. Confusion swept across his face when he saw Gary laying on the floor, covered in blood, his wrists still bound to the bed.

  “What did you do?” Paul gasped.

  “He turned into one of those things,” Dan said faintly, not taking his eyes off Gary.

  Paul turned to Dan. “What?”

  “He must’ve been bitten by that thing in the living room.”

  Paul spun around to see Wendy now standing behind Dan in the doorway with her gun out and the same shocked expression Paul had going. He turned back to Gary. “How?”

  Dan nodded to the open bedroom closet behind
him.

  Paul looked down at the muddy footprints inside, closed his eyes and dropped his head. “But we checked that door!”

  “Did we?” Dan asked glumly.

  Paul’s mouth gaped as a dark realization slowly sank in. He titled his head. “So you’re telling me these things can hide now?”

  Dan shrugged

  “Oh that’s just great!”

  A loud knock at the front door gave them all a start.

  “What the hell?” Wendy said in a scared whisper, turning towards the living room.

  “Stay frosty,” Paul said, brushing past both of them.

  He snatched Wendy’s flashlight from her hand and went to the door. Squinting through the peephole, he gripped the knob and glanced to Dan and Wendy.

  They had taken up position on either side of the door, guns clasped in both hands and pointing at the floor. Just like on Cops. They each nodded back.

  Paul swallowed and tightened his grip on his gun. He pulled the front door open, resurrecting the nasty creak.

  The man standing on the front cement steps smiled at him. “Good evening, sir! I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

  Paul’s heart pounded as the flashlight lit up the old timer wearing an unkempt gray suit and tie. The flashlight dropped to a weathered brown briefcase in the man’s right hand. The beam traveled back up to his large smile, words escaping Paul in the process.

  “I’m Arthur Nelson with Breighton Insurance,” he said brightly, picking up the slack in the conversation. “How are you tonight?”

  Paul’s mouth was wide open and speechless. He directed the light behind the man, out into the front yard. It was too dark to tell if anyone else was out there or not, even with the light. “Are you alone?” he finally sputtered.

  Arthur’s brow dipped. He followed Paul’s gaze behind him and turned back to the front door. “Yes sir, I am,” he said with the air of someone who is talking to a slow patient at a nursing home. “Listen, the reason for my visit tonight is...” the man trailed off, seeing the confused look stealing over Paul’s face.

  His eyes squinted at Paul. “Sir, have I caught you at a bad time?” he politely asked.

  Paul studied the stranger’s kind face. The old man had that same shaved buzz cut and that bulbous nose from years of hard work and even harder drinks that reminded Paul of his grandpa. “Bad time?” Paul asked weakly, adjusting his sweaty grip on the gun behind his back.

  “Well, the reason for my visit tonight is to make sure that you are receiving nothing short of exceptional coverage on your home at the best rate available.”

  Paul stood there blinking.

  The man suddenly looked concerned again. “You are the owner of the house, aren’t you, sir?”

  Paul snorted. “Arthur was it?”

  The man tipped his head back. “Yes sir, that is correct,” he said slowly. “From Breighton Insurance.”

  “Arthur, what are you doing?” he whispered.

  Arthur looked stumped. “Sir, perhaps if I came inside, I could show you some current figures,” he said, lifting his briefcase high enough for Paul to see. “I have a feeling you could be doing much better.”

  Paul stared at him, astonished and bewildered. “Can you hang on one quick second?”

  The man’s brow dropped. He studied Paul with a worried expression slipping across his wrinkled mug. “Certainly sir.”

  Paul gently shut the door and turned to Wendy and Dan.

  “What the hell?” she whispered.

  “What is this dude’s problem?” Dan asked, wide-eyed in the flashlight’s glare.

  “I think he’s a door-to-door salesman,” Paul said, with a hushed voice.

  “What?” Wendy gasped, quietly stomping a foot.

  “He’s obviously crazy,” Dan said. “Whatever you do, do not let him in here.”

  “He may need help,” Paul said, reaching for the knob again.

  “Wait!” Wendy said. “What if it’s an ambush?”

  “We’ll take him out into the front yard and see what’s going on,” Paul said, making sure his safety was off.

  “I’m not going out there! It’s pitch dark!” she said.

  “Then you stay here in the doorway. Keep an eye on the back door, and us,” he said, turning back around and opening the door. “Sorry about...” he trailed off, staring at the flashlight’s beam cutting into the front yard.

  The man was gone.

  Paul jerked the light to the left and the right.

  Nothing.

  “He’s gone,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Dan squawked, coming out from behind the door.

  Paul unlocked the screen door and stepped outside.

  “Paul don’t!” Wendy said. “It’s a trap!”

  Paul waved the light around the front yard with Dan right behind him.

  “Oh, I do not like this,” Dan said, thrusting his gun here and there.

  Paul stopped walking and shook his head. “He’s gone.”

  Dan’s breath came fast and heavy. “How can he just be gone? He must’ve been senile or something and still thinks he’s selling insurance.”

  Paul’s eyes followed the beam of light from the yard, to the driveway and road. He scanned the bushes, trees and cop car parked in the drive. Nothing.

  “He’ll probably come back selling Girl Scout cookies,” Dan whispered.

  Paul stared at him, searching for an explanation.

  “And I don’t care if he’s got those round little coconut and caramel cookies either,” Dan said. “That dude is creepy!”

  “We’re outta here first thing in the morning,” Paul said, sweeping the front yard with the light.

  “Maybe we should leave now.”

  “I think we have bigger things to worry about than some crazy old man.”

  Dan thought about it for a moment and noticed Paul on his way back inside the house. Hurriedly, he caught back up and followed him through the front door.

  The next morning was cloudy and cooler in Giddings. The flag in the front yard waved with the brisk breeze. Dan manually opened the double wide garage door and eagerly hopped in behind the wheel of Shelly1. Paul didn’t like seeing Wendy with Sophia’s gun strapped around her leg but he didn’t protest. Sophia had wanted it that way. He took one last look at the picture of the guy leaning on the car, and then slid into the front bench seat while Wendy climbed in back.

  They had dragged both bodies behind the metal shed the night before, leaving behind a gory trail of a reminder on the living room rug and carpet. Paul couldn’t help feeling bad for the car show guy. He had a good thing going here. Gary on the other hand, not so much. Paul didn’t want to see anyone die, even Gary, but it would definitely make things a whole lot easier without him.

  The car’s engine thundered to life and rattled off the finished garage walls. The three of them sat peering out the large door into the overcast day ahead, with what awaiting them, God only knows.

  “We gonna sit here all day,” Wendy asked impatiently.

  “Gotta let her warm up a minute,” Dan said. “This thing’s a classic!”

  “Really? I must’ve missed that fact the last twenty times you said it,” she said, rolling her puffy eyes and throwing her tangled blonde hair into a black scrunchie.

  “I treat my cars like I treat my women,” Dan said, gently revving the motor.

  “Oh yeah? So you’re going to let the car buy lunch?”

  Dan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She just laughed.

  With Gary and the car show guy and the mystery salesman last night, Paul felt like everyone had already forgotten about Sophia. Forgotten what had happened to her. To him.

  “Did I mention this baby’s got a four on the floor and my pedal’s to the metal?” Dan asked over the car’s beefy rumbling.

  Paul looked over to Dan. “That makes no sense.”

  “Yeah, what now?” Wendy asked.

  “I said...”

  The g
olf clubs and fishing rods shifted in the trunk as Dan slammed it in gear, put his foot to the floor and left streaks of burnt rubber down the driveway that were quickly overtaken with rolling white smoke. They didn’t bother shutting the garage door.

  Soon they were traveling south again, on two-lane highways that would take them between San Antonio and Houston. There would be some unavoidable population problems along the way, but if all went well they might be able to make it to the Gulf by dusk. They rode in silence for the first few miles, always on that nervous lookout.

  “Who do you think looked more like a ZIP before this whole thing began?” Dan finally asked. “Rob Zombie or Joan Rivers?”

  “Joan Rivers!” Wendy said with a laugh.

  “Okay. How about Bruce Jenner or Chelsea Handler?”

  “Ooh, that’s a tough one,” she said. “Probably Bruce Jenner. One too many doctors have gotten their hands on that guy. Plus all of those crazy women would turn anyone into a mindless stiff.”

  “Ha!” Dan laughed.

  Paul rolled his eyes and looked out his side window. Wendy and Dan were lucky. All he could think about was Sophia and how far away he was from her right now. He could see the two of them eventually hooking up, and why not? Most everyone else was either dead or dead and still walking around. But what a kick in the pants the whole thing was. Now he would become the eternal third wheel. How did that happen? And so fast. He thought of his wife up on that hill. Alone.

  He continued looking out the window with unfocused eyes. It was so dark outside, yet almost noon. Clouds churned and if you cut him open, he felt like his insides would look a lot like the day’s sky. He wondered what the weather was like where she was and hoped it was sunny and warm. Then his head snapped to the front window.

  A UPS guy sauntered aimlessly on the left side of the road up ahead. His brown pants and matching coat were shredded. It promptly stumbled into their path as soon as it saw them coming.