“They’re like cockroaches.” Miranda adjusted the seatbelt that was getting a little tighter with each bump in the road. “Did you know they can survive a nuclear explosion?”
Finn frowned at her. “Telemarketers?”
“No, cockroaches, but probably them, too.”
“I almost wish the phones would go down,” he said, bringing the touch of a smile to her lips.
“In two hundred yards, take the next exit,” the GPS interrupted, moving the little blue arrow along the route.
Finn killed the cruise control and merged to the right, stopping at the end of the ramp.
“Take a left and continue eight miles until arriving at destination on righthand side of the road.”
“Oh my God,” Finn muttered, staring across the street. “I can’t believe it.”
Leaning back into the seat, Miranda slowly shook her head. “Uh-uh, I’m not going in there.”
I Am Not Negan
Pulling into a Famous Footwear, Finn put it in park and turned off the engine, staring past the BOGO signs at their reflection in the store’s glass. Outside of a burgundy minivan parked a few spots over, the place appeared empty, sending an uneasy feeling moving over him like the shadow of a dark cloud.
“Are they even open?”
He shook his head in wonder. “The lights are on.”
A young clerk came into view, pushing a vacuum cleaner back and forth over the rug by the front doors, dark bangs swinging in his glasses.
“He’s vacuuming?” Miranda’s eyebrows drew together. “In the zompacolypse?”
“That is so messed up.” Finn opened his door. “Let’s go,” he said, retrieving the shotgun in back and leading Miranda inside.
The kid looked up when the bell rang, Nathan printed in big red letters across the lanyard hanging from his neck. Grimacing at their presence, he turned off the vacuum, giving the floor back to Kenny Loggins pouring from the recessed speakers above. He shook hair from his glasses, eyes falling to the shotgun and widening with alarm. “Just take the money and go! I don’t even care about this place. I was going to quit anyway!”
“Relax, we’re detectives and we need some new shoes for a bust.” Finn gazed around the brightly lit store, the smell of new leather and rubber mixing in the air. “You guys are still open, huh?”
“For fifteen more minutes anyway,” Nathan replied, standing the vacuum up and studying them through suspicious eyes. “It’s buy-one-get-one for half price if you have a Rewards card, if not I can sign you up. It only takes a few seconds.” His eyebrows rose above his glasses. “So, do you want to sign up?”
“Not today,” Finn answered. “Hey, is there a cemetery around here?”
“Cemetery?” His brow furrowed in thought. “Mmm, not really,’ he replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of a long, pointy nose. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” he replied, wandering off with his wife.
Miranda exhaled a stifled breath, scanning the rows of shoes for dead people. It was like that now in this world. Once you see one up close, you can’t stop seeing them everywhere. “This is so weird,” she whispered, Kenny Loggins serenading their every step.
“So weird,” Finn whispered back, looking up at the ceiling. “The A/C is on!”
“I know! It’s freezing in here.” Flashing him a tightlipped smile, she slipped into the women’s section to replace her high heels.
Finn retreated into the men’s side and tried on a pair of red running shoes, keeping a close eye on Miranda and the front doors. The Nikes were lightweight and would give him a serious edge against those decomposing sloths out there. Miranda found a pair of black Adidas she liked and put them on over a pair of new socks, so Finn did the same.
At the counter, he stuck a Visa in the chip reader and nervously waited for the sale to approve. Catching an odd look from Nathan, Finn bounced on his toes, praying the transaction went through before the power – or the bank’s database – went down. If that happened, he would just take the shoes anyway. What could the guy do about it? They had guns.
Beeping, the card reader flashed approved on the screen and Finn relaxed with a sigh of relief. Nathan grabbed a plastic bag and shook it out. “Don’t you want those?” he asked, nodding at Miranda’s black high heels sitting next to a red padded bench.
“No,” she answered, staring out the front doors.
Finn slipped the card back in his wallet in case they needed it again. To say it was surreal to be shopping while zombies were killing people back in their hometown was an understatement. It was only a matter of time before the undead tsunami caught up to them and everyday moments like this became a thing of the past. His chest fell with a melancholy sigh as he surveyed the neatly stocked shelves behind him.
“Let’s go, Finn,” Miranda said, gripping the door’s crossbar.
He turned back to the counter, stuffing the wallet in a back pocket. “That your van out there?”
Ripping the receipt off, Nathan looked up and frowned. “Yeah, why?”
“Okay listen to me, Nathan, you need to lock up and go home right now. There’s a…problem going on out there and it’s not safe for you to be here alone. Find a radio and hunker down.”
The color bled down Nathan’s face into the neck of a Navy-blue polo shirt. “Mass shooter?”
“Something like that.”
“Finn!”
“Coming,” he said, leaving his old shoes behind as well. Something told him they’d never need dress shoes again.
“Good luck on your bust,” Nathan said, handing him the bag of socks. “I hope you get him.”
“Thanks,” he replied, passing Miranda the bag and pushing outside with the shotgun tucked in a shoulder.
It was even warmer out now and the country silence planted a far-off ringing in Finn’s left ear. They headed for the truck, butterflies launching in his stomach with anticipation. They were nearly to their destination and he was beginning to have second thoughts. Miranda was right, they didn’t know these… A steady roar grew to their left. “Look out,” he cried, towing Miranda around the driver’s side of the Bronco II as an old blue pickup jumped the curb on Main Street. Veering off course, it headed right for them and jumped another curb, bouncing against the parking lot. Sparks shot from the undercarriage and the garish sound of twisting metal filled their ears when the pickup smashed into Nathan’s minivan, knocking it sideways. Smoke began pouring from the pickup’s crumpled hood and everything got bone chillingly quiet. The driver, a large pear-shaped man with a red beard, popped the door open and stumbled out, falling to his butt and firing a huge handgun up at the stars.
“Jesus mother of Christ,” he cried, scrambling backwards on the seat of his worn blue jeans.
“Stay here,” Finn said, going around the back of the Bronco II. “Are you okay?” he asked, jamming the twelve gauge’s buttstock against a shoulder.
The man stared up at him like he was batshit crazy, face drawn with fear.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Finn told him.
Eyes bulging in their sockets, he pointed at Finn. “Behind you!”
Finn spun around to see a skeleton in a black suit and bowtie slowly rise in the truck bed like a pirate flag with promises of death and destruction to come. Long gray hair hung limply in his rotten face, a sneer twisting his cracked lips. Before Finn could raise the shotgun and fire, the man lunged forward, flipping over the side of the truck and latching onto Finn’s shirt. They crashed to the ground and rolled. Landing on his back, Finn stared up into the corpse’s hollow eyes, using both hands to press the shotgun against it. The thing grunted and drooled, smelling of earth and death, snapping its broken teeth at Finn’s face with surprising power for such a withered creature. Cold slobber ran into Finn’s mouth as he pushed and squirmed, gray hair hanging in his face.
“Finn!” Miranda cried, yanking her gun out and taking nervous aim. Her chest rose and fell, making it difficult to find a clear shot that wouldn’t leave
her husband with a hole in the head. The store’s glass door burst open and Nathan bravely rushed out onto the walkway.
“Help him!” Miranda yelled, searching for a clear shot.
Nathan crept closer with his phone out, recording Finn fighting off the dead guy in a black suit and bowtie.
“What’re you doing?” she cried. “Help my husband!”
A deafening gun blast rang out, making them recoil.
The zombie’s brains splattered the side of the smoking pickup, running down the door in gooey globs. Finn pushed the corpse off to the side and rolled to his new shoes. Spitting something rancid from his mouth, he swung the twelve-gauge around the parking lot, ready for more.
“Are you okay?” Miranda screamed.
Finn spit again and ran a hand down his face to clear it. “I got shit in my mouth,” he yelled, watching the big man slowly lower a silver handgun. “What the fuck,” Finn panted, wiping the black goo on his slacks.
“I’m sorry, mister,” the man said, gasping for air. “Sonsabitches surrounded my mom’s house out by the lake.” He paused to catch his breath. “They came from the cemetery a few blocks behind us.”
Slowly turning to Nathan, Finn sharpened his gaze into heated slits. “I thought you said there weren’t any cemeteries around here!”
Nathan stopped recording and pushed his glasses up higher. “I forgot.”
“Idiot,” Finn grumbled, returning his attention to the dead man leaking dark goo out onto the parking lot. Missing most of his skin, the thing’s nails and hair were long, as if they’d continued growing in death. Lowering the shotgun like it weighed a ton, Finn freed a constricted breath.
“I don’t believe it,” Nathan said, hitting record and creeping closer to the zombie lying in his parking lot. “What the hell is that thing?”
“That is the problem I was talking about.”
Nathan looked up from the phone with a scowl. “Jesus dude, you could’ve been a little more specific.”
“Holy fucking shit,” the big man breathed out, pacing back and forth across the brightly lit lot, the silver handgun hanging heavy in his right hand. “Motherfucker jumped in the back of my truck when I took off,” he panted, nervously stroking his beard. “Couldn’t shake him. He kept grabbing my hair through the back window.” He filled his lungs with a deep intake. “Fuck!”
Pursing his lips, Finn nodded at his wife. “Get in the truck.”
Her blue eyes jumped between the big man and Nathan. “I…”
“Get in the car, Miranda,” Finn yelled, slipping the shotgun in back.
“Wait!”
Turning to the bearded guy, Finn creased his brow.
The big man’s breath rushed in and out, lifting the sleeveless flannel on his chest. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the tattoo of a longhorn skull on his right shoulder. “Take us with you.”
Finn eyebrows pulled down. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know you, that’s why not.”
“Well, my name is Tyler – my friend’s call me Big Red for…obvious reasons.” He gestured to the nervous clerk filming the dead zombie. “And this is…”
“Nathan,” Miranda answered, opening her car door. “We already met.”
“Get somewhere safe,” Finn told him, nodding at his wife to get in the truck.
“C’mon man!” Tyler ran a hand through his red hair. “My pickup is shot and so’s his van.”
“My mom is going to kill me!” Nathan turned the camera to Tyler. “You drive like shit, hillbilly!”
“Dude! I had a zombie pulling on my hair!”
“Finn, we can’t just leave them here,” Miranda said, glancing in the direction Tyler came from. “The dead will be coming.”
“They could be killer rapists for all we know,” he whispered back, clearing goo from his eyes.
Tyler held up a finger. “I am not a killer rapist, man. I’m just scared.”
Miranda sighed, staring dully at her husband. “Finn, come on.”
“Look at that guy,” Finn whispered, glancing at Tyler. “Would you let that guy in your car in the middle of the night back in the old world?”
“Hey, you know I can hear everything you’re saying, right?” Trading a look with Nathan, Tyler shifted in his worn construction boots. “My ears are still ringing with gunfire but I’m standing right here.”
“Finn,” Miranda started in a cool voice, “they need our help.”
His brow crumpled. “Don’t you watch TV? Do you know what happens when you start helping people in the zompac?” He swept a hand out to Tyler. “He could be Negan.”
“I am not Negan,” Tyler replied, holding a finger up. “Let me repeat that, I am not Negan.”
“Oh yeah?” Finn’s eyebrows went up. “Then why do you have such a big gun? Huh?”
“Because I live out in the middle of nowhere and the average police response time is fifteen to twenty minutes.” He gestured with the gun. “That, and I’m all out of dragonglass.”
“Have a good life, buddy.”
Miranda frowned at Finn and stood her ground, burning him a new one. “Finn, come on.”
“Hey, man, if you leave us here, we’re as good as dead. I just lost my mom and my dog,” Tyler explained. “And this small-ass town is about to get wiped off the map.”
Finn stared hard at him, lips pressing into a thin, grim line, this man’s fate running through his mind. For all he knew, Tyler and Nathan would be safer here. The only thing certain about any of this was uncertainty. He sighed, sinking his shoulders. “Get in.”
“Oh, bless you, mister!” Tyler breathed out, jogging back to his pickup. “Just have to grab a couple things real quick!” Nimbly dodging the fallen corpse, he ducked inside the smoke-filled cab and came back out wearing a camouflaged ballcap, an acoustic guitar and lever action rifle wrapped in his hands.
Rolling his eyes, Finn opened the tailgate and Tyler slipped everything inside the tiny compartment in back.
“My grandpa gave me these. Oh shit!” Tyler darted back over to the pickup. Reaching inside, he sprinted back across the lot, belly shaking as he avoided the dead guy. He squeezed into the backseat and held up a phone charger for Finn and Miranda to see. “That woulda sucked,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “Hey, I’ve got Wireless PowerShare if y’all need it.”
Miranda got in and rolled down her window, letting a warm breeze play with her hair. “Come on, Nathan! Let’s go.”
Nathan looked up from the dead guy in a bowtie and slowly lowered the phone. “I’m not going with you people; I don’t even know you.”
“Nathan, it’s not safe here,” Finn said through Miranda’s window, starting the engine. “More will be coming!”
“What’s your name anyway?” he asked, staring past Miranda at Finn.
“Finn Bryson.”
Nodding, Nathan’s eyes jerked to Tyler in the backseat.
“Tyler Bennington,” he replied, pulling himself closer to Miranda’s window. “Tell them about me, brother!”
“Nathan,” Finn yelled out. “Get in the goddamn car!”
Slowly backpedaling toward the store, he threw open the front door and slipped back inside. He twisted the deadbolt into place and stared at them through the door, his glasses magnifying the sober look haunting his eyes. Curling his lips into a sneer, he flipped them the bird and disappeared into the back.
Hot Beef Stew and Cold Beer
Tyler grunted. “Fucking millennials, think they know everything.”
Finn exhaled a heavy breath and sped out of the lot, running over the dead guy’s head. Taking a hard right, he slid the truck sideways onto Main Street, blowing a lonely red light and shooting into the dark.
“That dude ain’t never gonna make it,” Tyler yelled over the racing engine, bouncing in the backseat.
Finn glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Not unless the power goes out and he gets off his phone.”
Removi
ng the camouflage ballcap, he ran a hand through his thick red hair. “That’s no joke, man,” he said, slapping the cap back down. “Cellphone’s been turning people into zombies for years now. Everyone walking around with their heads down, mumbling to themselves.”
“Did you see him back there?” Miranda twisted around in the passenger seat, the wind blowing her hair out. “Why are people always filming instead of helping?”
“That’s a good question, Ma’am,” Tyler sighed, smoothing his beard with thoughtful strokes of the hand. “If dude saw what I seen, he would’ve got his ass in the car.”
Finn glanced in the mirror, the road vibrating the seats. “What’d you see?”
Tyler turned to look out his window, watching a brightly lit billboard for a nearby casino slip into the past with everything else. Like safety and security, Chad and Carmen. “One minute my mom and I were watching Hawaii Five-0 and the next…dead people were pouring in through the patio door.” He sighed, fogging the glass. “They pushed right through the screen, killed my mom and dog in the kitchen while I was half asleep on the couch.”
“That’s horrible,” Miranda said in a soft voice, swapping a look with her husband. “I’m sorry, Tyler.”
He gestured with the handgun. “Unfortunately, I left the Desert Eagle and my rifle out in my truck like an idiot so I made a run for it.” Pulling a wheezing breath into his chest, his voice cracked when he spoke. “I left them to die.”
“Hey,” Miranda said, tipping her chin down at him. “There was nothing you could’ve done to help them. These things…” Trailing off, she turned back around and watched white lines slip beneath them, swallowing whatever she was about to say next.
Tyler turned to his faint reflection in the glass and let his eyes stray from focus. “You always wonder if your dog will protect you from a home invader…” Blinking a tear into his beard, he shook his head. “Buster tore into a couple of those bastards but there were too many of em.” Growing quiet, he gazed off into the night, discreetly wiping away another tear. “Can you put it on the country station?”
First Zombie Page 6
