by Shana Festa
True to his word, Vinny met us at the entrance, panting from exertion. "Seriously?" he asked, looking down at his bike. "Purple?"
"Save it," snapped Jake. "This isn't the time."
We pedaled with everything we had, sticking to roads and weaving between clusters of zombies reaching out for us.
"We're almost there," Striker assured us, his voice carrying on the wind. "One more street!"
Meg cried out behind us, catching a stone in the front tire and losing control. I slammed on the hand brakes and jumped from my bike, tossing it to the ground to help her up.
"I'm fine," she said, shrugging me off and reaching for her downed bike. "Get back on the bike."
The others had stopped to make sure we were okay. All except for Casey, who plunged forward, digging deep with unlimited energy.
"Striker! Get her!" I yelled to him. He turned, not understanding what I meant at first. Seeing the frantic mother putting distance between us, he took off again, followed by the rest of us.
Casey's bike came to a halt at the end of the street facing the intersecting road where her family's car had run out of gas. She howled incoherently, and looked back at us with a tortured expression.
We reached her, unstraddling and dropping our bikes to better defend ourselves against the oncoming pack of undead. We circled the woman, protecting her from danger, and began cutting down anything unlucky enough to get within striking distance. With the last of the zombies falling to the pavement with fresh head wounds, the tail end of the car was visible. Halfway between us and the car a bike, similar to the ones we rode, lay on its side.
"Where is she?" shrieked Casey.
A group of undead, somewhere around a dozen, clawed at the passenger's side of the small car. Movement from within the vehicle caught my attention.
I held the stricken mother by her forearm. "Casey, calm down. We need to clear the car. I think she's inside. Look."
She tried to squirm out of my grasp. The foolish woman had no regard for her own safety. I pulled on her with force, hearing her cry out in pain.
"Enough!" I snarled, surprising myself with the callousness of my voice. Immediately I felt guilty for my lack of patience. She'd just lost her son and husband, and the fate of her daughter remained a question mark. Still, though, she was putting us all in harm's way with her reckless behavior.
Meg and I positioned ourselves on either side of her while the three men advanced on the car, slaying each zombie like an elite military team. We moved up behind them, careful to not allow too much space between us and risk getting cut off by undead. I had no illusions that I could handle myself with the same effective precision that the men could.
When the last zombie fell, we stopped a few feet from the car. There was an ominous stain of bright red blood on the door. The color stuck out in contrast to the blackened sludge from the undead. My hands flew to my mouth, and I screamed into the flesh of my palm when Elorie's mangled face struck the window. The others just stood there, facial expressions slack with defeat, while the dead girl repeatedly hit the tempered glass with her head and hands.
Casey tried to rush the car. The sight of her daughter drained all reason from her, and her broken mind was unable to reconcile the death of her daughter. The woman's anguished cries echoed in the vacant street, and she fought against Striker's grasp, nearly reaching the door handle before he dragged her back.
Seeing Elorie like this, broken and feral, I felt another piece of me shrivel up and die deep inside.
"Let me go!" Casey screamed, striking out and clawing at Striker's scarred face and leaving angry red welts in his skin. She fought him until she had nothing left, sagging to the street and wailing in agony.
The zombie, I willed myself not to think of her as Elorie anymore, stopped moving and just stared at us through the window. Chills ran down my spine when I noted its slack jaw and blank expression devoid of emotion. Struggling zombies trying to eat me, I could handle, but this eerie stillness unnerved me.
Like an amateur slasher film, undead faces crowded the window panes of shops lining the deserted street. The sound of Casey's crying providing the soundtrack to the macabre scene. A feeling of being watched crept over me, and I felt like invisible ants were crawling on my skin. I glanced around, taking in my surroundings again. Everywhere I looked, gaunt faces glowered back at me, mouths drawn and teeth showing in snarls of rage and contempt.
I felt the color drain from my face, and I pulled my arms tight to my chest, making myself as small as possible. In a jerky motion, I grabbed Jake's arm, squeezing it hard, never taking my eyes away from their faces.
"What is it?" he asked, tearing his gaze from the teen zombie to look down at me.
My heart raced, nearly exploding from my chest, and my voice came out in a shaky whisper. "They're everywhere."
Jake's muscles stiffened and his head snapped up, eyes darting around. I heard sharp intakes of breath as each member of our small group saw them. We stood, our feet rooted to the pavement, mesmerized by the morbid spectacle.
Casey let out a shriek and rushed the car, managing to get her fingers lodged under the handle before Striker caught her. With a death grip on the handle, the door swung open when he jerked her backwards, and her former daughter spilled out. The lack of resistance caused Striker to fall, and the struggling woman landed on top of him, jamming her elbow into his diaphragm. Gulping in air, Casey scrambled up. At the same moment she let loose with a blood curdling scream as the corpse of her daughter bit into the meaty part of her thigh.
"Casey!" shrieked Meg, running forward to aid the woman. Her attempt was futile; Casey had just sealed her own fate. Vinny swooped forward, intercepting his sister and carried her to safety.
Once again, time seemed to slow. Every detail stuck out, suspended in the seconds that passed. Elorie pulled her head back, the flesh from her mother's leg stretching like salt-water taffy and tore free from her body. Strips of thigh hung from her bloody maw and jiggled as she chewed and swallowed.
Before Elorie could lower her face and continue feasting, I brought my crowbar high above my head and slammed it through the back of her skull with enough force for it to slice through the tender flesh and out her open mouth. The unyielding steel decimated her front teeth and scattered them on the pavement around her mother's still screaming, and now substantially bloody, body.
I swallowed the vomit that rose in my throat and pulled. The tool was stuck in such a way that her lifeless cadaver remained affixed and she swung like a marionette on a string. No amount of shaking and shimmying would remove the crowbar and I was left with no other option but to use my foot against her back as leverage. I refused to let her body fall to the floor—I cared for the girl too much to be so callous—and I gently lowered her down.
When the sound of Meg's scream jarred me from paying my respects to Elorie, I spun to find Striker wiping his machete on the shirt of a now-dead Casey. Her head rolled to a stop at my feet and I stared down at it in shock. A scream born of rage and rancor bubbled from the pit of my belly, rising in pitch until I vaulted over the corpses and clung to Striker, raining blow after blow onto his head and torso. I clung to him as he spun in circles, flailing his arms like he was trying to bat away a swarm of bees.
Jake and Vinny peeled me off him, holding me back while I continued to kick and swipe at the stunned man.
"You're an animal!" I screamed. "A fucking animal! Why?"
Striker's eyes swam with violence, and I didn't care because mine did too. "She was going to die!" He bellowed so loud the windows in the nearest shop might have rattled.
"No shit, Sherlock, but she deserved a choice."
"No, she didn't. She deserved to not suffer," he said, and turned away from the group. His body language left no question that this conversation was over. We'd fought and lost this battle. In a matter of hours, we'd lost an entire family.
I tore my arm free from Jake's grasp and stalked off in the direction we'd come.
My husband caught up with me, "Where are you going?" he asked. Stress lines were etched into his face and the blood from his split lip had dried, accentuating the furrows around his mouth.
I paused to look at him. "I'm going to Asylum. I'm done with this nut job."
Chapter 12: When Ya Gotta Go
"Stop." Jake stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Give the guy a break, Em."
I stopped in my tracks, flabbergasted that Jake defended Striker after the man just beheaded a human being. A living, breathing person. "Let me get this straight. An hour ago, your brother needed to peel your ass off the floor when Mr. Crazypants beat your face in. You just watched him chop off a woman's head with a machete. And you're defending him?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Antennae sprouted from the top of his head and his body morphed into a donkey. At least that's what it must have looked like judging by the expression on my face. I shook my head in disbelief. "Jake. You're fucked." I told him and made a move to get by him. He strafed to the left, once again using his body as a barrier to stop me.
He stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place, and looked down at me. Because he was so close, his eyes made a fast back and forth movement as he focused on me.
"Emma, you need to get this," he said, his tone almost pleading. "We don't live in a world that doesn't involve killing anymore. It's the cold, hard truth. You of all people should know this. You had to shoot your best friend. If you can kill Kat, what makes what Striker did to Casey any different?"
I thought about his words. Logically, they made sense, and I had to concede. "I know, Jake," I replied. I felt dejected, like someone had let all the wind out of my sails. "But he's a savage. He didn't pause for even a second."
"That's not true. Look at him." He spun me around by my shoulders to face the others. Meg and Vinny stared back at me with concern, but Striker looked at his feet, refusing to make eye contact. The machete hung limp by his side, still coated with Casey's blood. He looked like a little boy being reprimanded by his mother. That glimmer of vulnerability was back, and he just looked…pathetic.
My anger deflated. For all my blustering, I felt pity for the man. He was truly alone, and my heart began to ache for him. Jake saw the change in my demeanor and let me go. We retrieved the bikes and walked them back to the car where the corpses of Casey and Elorie lay sprawled on the pavement like a crime scene photo. Vinny went back for the last bike while I dug around in the car and found a Buzz Lightyear comforter. I placed it over their bodies.
"I'm sorry," Striker said softly.
I was taken aback by his admission and opened my mouth to respond in kind. But he wasn't looking at me. His gaze lingered on the comforter and the mounds of remains tucked beneath. There it was again. The sad, emotionally fractured man broke through the tough exterior of steel.
He turned away, shoulders heaving with a long breath, and when he faced us again, the hardened facade returned. But now I knew. It was just that, a facade. I walked over to him with apprehension and reached out to place my hand on his arm, pulling it back quickly when he flinched.
"Look," I started, not quite knowing how to put what I felt into words. "I know it had to be done, but some things are just too much to take in. I don't blame you for doing what I couldn't."
He nodded curtly. His lack of a response caused my annoyance to flare again when he looked through me, not at me. My first instinct was to snap at him, but I fought the urge and just stood before him, mimicking his stillness.
He broke the silence, finally focusing his eyes on me. "We're close to the Ca' d'Zan. We can make it there fast on bikes." Looking around again at the number of faces behind thin panes of glass, he added. "I don't think we should linger here any longer than necessary."
"Does that mean you're coming with us?" I asked, hopeful that he'd at least consider it. As much as I struggled to feel compassion for the man, the thought of him living in a shipping container, isolated from the bit of society that remained, bothered me.
"No. I'll get you there, but I won't stay."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Large groups just aren't safe. They're like a beacon to the undead." He shrugged and addressed Jake. "You don't have to go. The shipping yard is as good a place as any."
His voice sounded odd, an emotion I hadn't seen from him was in his offer. Hope. I realized he didn't want to be alone.
Jake responded, tripping over his words in an effort to not offend the man. "I don't think so, man. I have to do what's best for my family, and I owe it to them to try."
And just like that, the hardened man returned. "Okay, let's go," he said gruffly and mounted his bike.
* * *
Meg and Vinny were uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, we had to beg them to stop their incessant babbling, but today I almost wished to hear the sibling's banter. We rode at a brisk pace. My cheeks were rosy from the chilly January weather and my fingertips were freezing. Eventually, the strip malls gave way to sprawling homes and lush greenery. The thought of what lurked inside the overgrown shaded areas caused me to shiver.
We passed only a handful of zombies, maneuvering around them with ease as our bikes sped by their grasping hands.
"Can we stop?" Meg panted from in front of me, her voice strained. "I have a Charlie horse in my calf."
Striker slowed his bike, stopping by the front lawn of an exquisite Mediterranean style home on our right. I breathed in the salty ocean air, tinged with the ever-present scent of death. To our left was the open water, visible between two enormous mansions that looked so regal, I imagined only Hollywood royalty could afford them.
"Thank God," exclaimed Vinny. "I have to go to the bathroom so bad."
"Thanks for sharing," mocked Meg. She had taken a seat on the grass by the sidewalk and was massaging her calf, wincing every time it spasmed.
"When ya gotta go, ya gotta go," he said, shrugging like it was a law, and one that must be followed. Who was he to deny the law of poop?
Like Cape Coral, these roads must have been plotted out by an idiot. Our path ahead was blocked by another home. The Ca' d'Zan, according to Striker, was less than a half mile from where we stood, but we needed to navigate around a small labyrinth of side streets in order to get there. The bikes would be of no use on the grass, and they were too valuable to leave behind.
Daphne whined, signaling she saw the grass and needed to answer the call of nature.
"Okay," I waggled my finger at her and spoke in a sing-song tone. "I'll let you out, but you need to stay where I can see you."
When I unzipped the top of the bag, her little head popped up. This was why I loved my dog so much. She had a calming effect on me. The sight of her tongue lolling out to one side and adorable puppy grin actually caused an unexpected giggle to escape me. The sudden change in demeanor was a shock to even me, and my psyche warred with conflicting emotions all fighting to break free. She leapt from my arms the moment I pulled her free and ran to a nearby patch of grass that hadn't grown as high as the rest.
The corner of the street was decorated with an ornate concrete and iron wall. Anywhere else and it would have simply been a slab of curbing to deter drivers from taking the corner like an idiot and ruining the usually-manicured lawns. But here in the ritzy-titzy part of town, they didn't do anything half assed. The wall was an L shape and only about six feet long on either side of the street. This made it easy to see that the road beyond was clear of the undead, putting us at ease.
I watched Daphne, ready to spring into action at the first hint of danger, as she found the perfect spot and peed. Then she repeated the act three more times in quick succession, all within a ten foot radius. I shook my head at her, chuckling to myself. "Stop spreading it around and just go!"
Vinny started walking toward the end of the road, increasing the distance between him and our group.
"Yo," called Jake, "where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Dude," he called over
his shoulder, "I told you, I need to take a dump. I'm not the fucking dog, you know. There's no way I'm dropping my pants and shitting in front of you fuckers."
Jake made to follow, but his brother turned around, motioning him to stay where he was. We hadn't seen a zombie in close to a mile and our threat meters were pretty low.
"Vinny, just hold it? We're almost there," said Meg.
"Not an option. I'm prairie dogging. Not to mention, how big of a tool would I look like if I walked in squeezing my cheeks together and just asked to use their toilet."
"Oh, my God," exclaimed Meg, rolling her eyes and throwing up her hands in defeat. "You are the biggest dick I have ever met!"
A huge smile appeared on Vinny's face. "And that," he joked, pointing at Meg, "is definitely what she said."
Leave it to my brother-in-law to find a way to make us laugh to the point of near hysterics after just experiencing the day from Hell. He must have been clenching pretty hard, because he was walking like he had a stick up his ass, which he pretty much did. If possible, I laughed even harder when I saw the confused expression Striker wore, clearly not getting the personal joke.
Vinny continued his backwards waddle along the sidewalk, holding his hands up in command for us to stay where we were. In one hand was a wad of napkins he'd produced from his pocket. He got to the wall, about to disappear around the corner when Daphne growled, instantly putting us all into defensive mode.
I stood, BB in one hand, dog in the other, and spun around. I saw nothing. Daphne squirmed to get down and I tightened my grip, not wanting her to run off in pursuit of whatever was ruffling her tail feathers.
"Relax!" I commanded, using my low voice reserved for a reprimand.
"I don't see anything," said Jake, garnering sounds of confirmation from Meg and Striker.
"Thank God," said Vinny. "If I had to fight right now I'd probably shit myself."
