by Russ Watts
“Jonas, honey, what...what is this?” Dakota stood next to her husband. She had screwed up a hymn sheet into a ball and held it ready to throw. Jonas wondered what she hoped to achieve, but it was an instinct in her to protect herself.
“Sit down, I’ll sort this out,” said Jonas having no idea how he was going to sort anything out. His father had died two days ago, of that he was quite sure. He had seen the body, felt the cold lifeless hands as he held him one final time. He had to do something though.
“Hamsikker, what’s going on?” asked Erik as he approached Jonas, hitching up his belt as he did so. His face was stern, his tone serious. Erik had slipped into cop-mode instantly, and Jonas was relieved he wasn’t on his own.
Jonas answered him with a shrug and stepped out into the aisle. He heard his father groan again, this time louder, and the dead man’s eyes widened. Francis coughed, and then seemed to take in a long breath. Jonas and Erik looked at each other nervously. Some of the people at the back of the church were leaving, and now that the church doors were open, they could hear more noise from outside: shouting, screaming, and lots more sirens.
“Dad?” asked Jonas timidly, ignoring the growing rush for the exit behind him. “Dad, are you...are you…” Jonas didn’t even know how to finish the question. How do you ask a dead man how he’s feeling?
“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy…” As the priest began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, he held the bible aloft, a large, thick book bound in red leather.
Jonas watched as his father swung around and without warning, without uttering a word, ran full steam at the priest. Francis knocked the priest down, and Jonas heard him crying for help.
As if in slow motion, Jonas saw Erik charge up to the altar, and he wanted to follow, he really did, but his feet were stuck to the floor. Fear had replaced sorrow, and logic had been replaced by terror. His father was dead. Francis Jonas Hamsikker was cold and dead, so how had he climbed out of the casket? Why was he attacking the priest? Erik brushed aside Jonas’s father, and the three men rolled about on the church floor as if they were playing a game. Jonas heard Dakota scream, and suddenly time sped up again.
“Jonas! Help him!” Dakota practically pushed Jonas forward, and he rushed to Erik’s aid. The man had Francis pinned down on the floor, but this was no ordinary dead body. Francis was thrashing and writhing, trying to push Erik off. His head lunged forward and his teeth snapped inches away from Erik’s arms and hands.
“Jesus, Dad, what the hell?” Jonas grabbed his father’s head, and held it down as Erik shouted for more help. With his father under control, it was then that Jonas looked across at the priest. The man’s smock was covered in blood, and the bible lay at his feet. The priest’s eyes rolled back in his head as his pale hands tried to stem the bleeding from his neck. There was blood not just on the priest, but also on the carpet, the bible and Erik. It was too much, far too much for one person to lose, and the priest’s hands fell away as he relinquished his life.
“Erik, what the fuck? The priest, he’s...he’s dead.”
“I know, man. Your Dad was biting him when I dragged him off. Looks like he tore out his jugular. Hell, Hamsikker, what is this?”
Hell sounded about right, thought Jonas. His father was still struggling to get free, and showing no sign of tiring. Dakota approached Jonas cautiously, and he asked her to call the police.
“I already did, but the line’s busy.” She looked at Francis in amazement. He had been quite dead only a few minutes ago. His eyes were wide, and when he saw her, it only served to reinvigorate him.
“Francis? I’m Dakota, Jonas’s wife. Do you…”
The dead body continued wriggling, and Jonas’s father didn’t answer Dakota.
“You’re telling me 911 is busy?” asked Erik. His face was burning red, showing the effort it was taking to keep Francis pinned down.
“Try them again,” said Jonas. “We can’t hold him down much longer.”
A scream sounded from outside the church, and they heard tyres coming to a halt on the road outside. More screams followed it, and the sound of breaking glass reached them.
“I gotta check on my family. I gotta go, man,” said Erik.
“Wait, please,” said Jonas, “I can’t do this on my own. I can’t…”
Dakota held the phone out in front of her. “It’s still engaged. I can’t reach…”
As the priest slowly sat up, he reached a hand out and grabbed Dakota’s ankle. She yelled out and frantically tried to kick him off, but the hand holding onto her was strong.
Jonas looked at Erik. “I’m sorry.” He let go of his father’s head, and rushed to help his wife, leaving Erik to fight his father.
The priest lost his grip on Dakota as Jonas aimed a kick at the priest’s head, and Dakota tumbled backwards. The priest sprang to his feet, eyes wide, and blood dripping from his jaw.
“Get back!” shouted Jonas to Dakota.
The priest barrelled into Jonas before he had time to move, and he felt his legs give way as the man crashed into him, knocking them both to the floor. He threw a punch at the priest’s head, but only succeeded in hitting him in the shoulder as they rolled around. He vaguely heard Dakota screaming something, but he was too occupied in keeping the priest’s snapping teeth away from him to hear what she was saying. The priest was an old man, almost as old as his father was, but he had such strength. Jonas hadn’t been in a fight since he was fifteen. Tommy Parker had called his mother a dead bitch and that fight had not ended up well for either of them; Tommy lost two teeth, and Jonas got a month’s detention. Now he was fighting a priest. A dead priest at that. As Jonas pushed his arms up off the floor, he felt the weight of the priest rise up off him. He saw Dakota with her hands around the man’s waist, helping him up, and then he heard the shot. The priest’s head exploded into a mist of blood and brain. Jonas was showered with fragments of skull and warm blood. As he rolled out from under the priest, Dakota dropped the lifeless body.
Jonas wiped the blood from his eyes as Dakota helped him up. “Did you get through to the cops? Who is that? Who’s shooting?”
There was another two gunshots, and Jonas saw Erik coming back from the altar. He was panting heavily, and wiping blood from his face. Jonas asked him who was shooting, if the police had finally arrived, but he was met with a blank stare.
“I don’t know. Later, Hamsikker. I’ve got to find my family.”
Erik barged past, and Jonas saw the body of his father lying beneath the casket. He was truly dead this time. There was a bullet hole in his forehead, and another shot had taken off his jaw. Francis’ eyes were closed now, and Jonas was certain they were going to stay that way. A figure stepped down from the altar, and paused by Jonas, looking him up and down.
“You’d do well to get yourself armed, son. You’re in Kentucky now. It looks like we’re in for trouble. You seen what’s going on outside?”
Jonas wiped his hands through his hair, and saw a pair of tidy flat shoes standing in a slick pool of blood. The green dress the woman wore seemed familiar, and then he remembered who it was.
“Mrs Danick? Is that you?”
The elderly woman tucked the revolver back into her handbag, and began shuffling off to the church doors. “Get out of town, Hamsikker. Your father don’t need you no more. And get that lovely wife of yours someplace safe.”
Jonas took one more look at his father. He was truly dead. Jonas wasn’t sure if his father was at peace, or what had just happened was real, but he was sure of one thing, Mrs Danick was right; they had to find someplace safe. He took Dakota’s hand and they ran after Mrs Danick. The church had emptied, and everything seemed unreal, as if it was a dream. Jonas looked back at his father, and the dead priest, and wiped warm blood from his face. This was no dream. The three of them stood in the church doorway looking outside. The sky was still blue, and the cardinals were still flying amongst the trees, but everywhere else he looked, Jonas saw death. Countless cars h
ad crashed into each other, and plumes of smoke were rising from the direction of Louisville. The church pathway was littered with bodies, and in the distance, he heard sirens drifting over the breeze.
“What’s happening?” asked Dakota as she linked her arm with Jonas’s.
A man came from around the corner of the church, dressed in a black suit, and Jonas recognised the figure as someone from the funeral. Uncle Nevin? Uncle Newton? The name escaped him, as it was hard to identify the man with half his face missing. Something, or someone, had ripped off the left half of the man’s face, and one eye dangled from its socket. Blood dripped from the man’s mouth, and when he saw Jonas, he growled.
A sedan suddenly came to a screeching halt at the roadside, and the driver’s window automatically wound down. Jonas could see the car had four occupants, but only the driver was clearly visible through the blacked out windows.
“Get in,” shouted Erik. “Get the hell in, now!”
The path between the road and the church was blocked by the dead man, who was now staggering toward them. Another figure was rising from the ground beside a poorly maintained grave. The earth was fresh, and there was no headstone, just a simple white cross that was crushed beneath the dead man’s feet.
Mrs Danick calmly took the revolver from her handbag, and cocked it. “You go,” she said to Jonas and Dakota as she raised the gun and took aim at the approaching figures. “I’ve got this.”
CHAPTER ONE
A FEW MONTHS LATER
She was dead, no doubt about it. The discoloured skin, lifeless eyes, and slack jaw made it pretty obvious. The next clue was in the way she walked, so slowly and aimlessly, drawn to any noise like a dumb animal. Dead feet scraped the ground as the zombie shuffled forward, meandering across the grass verge towards them.
Javier put his hand across the gun that was aimed at the zombie’s head, and lowered it. “Don’t waste your time. She’s too far away to worry about.”
He could see the disappointment in Rose’s eyes, but he wasn’t about to waste a bullet.
“Oh come on, it’s not like there are any others around. We can drop her and move on. I need the practise,” said Rose as she raised the gun and squinted down the length of the barrel.
Javier rocked back on his feet, sucking in a mouthful of warm morning air. “No. We’re low on ammo and…”
The zombie’s head exploded as Rose fired, hitting it squarely between the eyes. The body fell slowly to the ground, and then silence resumed. A lone bird flew from a tree in the distance, startled by the gunshot, but otherwise, they were completely alone.
“Bagged me a zombie.” Rose jumped to her feet looking elated. “Down in one.”
Javier looked at her coolly. His blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight, and he took a step toward Rose. “What did I just say?” He could see her happiness fading, the light in Rose’s face diminishing with each second, as pride was replaced by uncertainty.
“Oh, come on, cupcake, it’s just a zombie,” she said. “We’ve killed a thousand already, so who gives a shit? It’s not like…”
The sting of his hand knocked her backward, and Javier grabbed the gun from her hands as Rose stumbled away from him. He holstered it, and then held out an open hand to her. She was more shocked than anything, and he knew he hadn’t hit her that hard. She’d taken worse. It was really just a warning, a reminder of who was in charge.
“Come on.” He felt her slip her thin fingers into his, and he pulled her up. Facing him, the light illuminated her long blonde hair, and his lips curled into a thin smile. She always looked beautiful to him, though even more when she was submissive. He didn’t like it when she got cocky. He wasn’t the only man to find her beautiful, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to let anyone else get a piece of his Rose.
She looked up at him, and he saw the faint red glow blossoming on her cheek where he had slapped her. She leant in and kissed him, then drew her arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Her kisses tickled his neck and he pushed her away. “No harm done.”
Javier turned to the low brick wall where they had stopped and he sat down. He faced the park they had just passed through, and stared at the treeline, trying to guess what lay beyond it. Tall elm trees littered the fringes of the park, and further still, lay thick scrub over hilly terrain. It was going to be another long hot day, and he wanted to push on. Jeffersontown left him cold. It was so bland, so suburban, so very apple-pie, college football, God-damn American. He hated it. He wanted to keep riding, just to keep going until he found someplace he could call home. He had come with his parents over the border years ago into Texas, and they had moved around a lot, sometimes several times in just a few months. Very quickly, his father had shot through, and from then on it had been different schools, different friends - different fathers, depending on the mood his mother was in. Eventually, he gave up on trying to settle down, and simply went with the flow. His mother had left him as soon as she could. One day, he came home to find a scribbled note stuck to the fridge. She had taken off with her latest boyfriend, a truck driver from Ohio, leaving him a cold slice of ham, her discoloured wedding ring, and twenty dollars to get by. The bitch had probably whored herself all the way to Canada by now, and he let out a small laugh.
“What’s up?” asked Rose as she sat down beside him. It was warm, but early, and she zipped up the black leather jacket they had found discarded in the back of an SUV the previous night. You had to take what you could now. There were no more stores, no more hand-outs, and the law of the jungle ruled the streets now.
“I was just thinking. Where do we go from here? I mean, Jeffersontown did us fine, but I’m ready to move on, you know? Why stay here?” asked Javier.
“Can’t we stay, just for a few more days? That place we crashed in last night was comfy. It’s nice to sleep in a bed instead of the back of a truck for a change, and I know you enjoyed it too, right?”
Javier felt her run a hand over his thigh to his groin and she started squeezing him. He arched his eyebrows and looked at her. “You’re a good fuck, Rose, but there’s more to life than your tight ass.”
She brought her hand back to her lap and smiled, but he could see he had annoyed her. Her eyes were distant, her smile forced. Inwardly, he wanted to smile too, but right then, there were more pressing matters than playing games with her.
“So what then, we keep going?” Rose asked. “Just going and going and going, right?”
Javier nodded. “Stick to the plan. Keep heading north. It’s still our best shot.”
Rose mumbled something, but he didn’t hear her. It didn’t really matter what she said, so he stopped listening. He knew full well that she would go along with him, no matter how much she complained. She could be a bad-ass when she needed to be, and they got on well most of the time, but he wasn’t beholden to anyone, and he wasn’t about to let Rose tell him what to do. Last night had been good, that was true. They had found a deserted house, and taken full opportunity to use the luxury at their disposal. The occupants were long gone, probably joining the ranks of the undead months back. The house was locked up tight, but he had easily broken in via a back window. There was no alarm, and they had swiftly checked all the rooms. Evidently, a fairly well off couple had lived there given the size of the place and the expensive looking décor. There were no children’s toys, or clothes, and the pantry still had a few tins of food which they’d guzzled down greedily in the darkness. The boxes of oats, cereals and pasta had either gone off, or been eaten by rats and mice. The fresh food in the fridge had turned into small piles of mould, and the fetid smell was revolting. Nothing worked anymore: fridges, streetlights, televisions, computers, phones, nothing. Along with the power that had gone off months back, all those gadgets and devices supposed to make everyone’s life easier had been turned off. They were as useful now as yesterday’s newspaper.
“You’ve not given up on me, have you?” he asked Rose.
; She shook her head. “Javier, you’re my hero, you know that. I’m never leaving you.”
He rolled his hand across her back, and brought it up to the nape of her neck. The sun behind them was slowly warming their backs, but still, he felt her shiver when he touched her.
“And Canada? You remember the plan?”
Javier gripped her neck tighter, just increasing the pressure of his fingers a fraction. She flinched, but not once did she take her eyes off his.
“Of course I do. Your brother is there, I get it. I’m with you, Javier, I promise. Straight up.”
Javier brought his arm back around, and cupped her face. He leant in and kissed her. Those kisses made him feel alive, more alive than he had since before the shit had started. Back then he had been nothing; a nobody doing nothing of value, not understanding how he fitted in with the world, or where he was going. He had drifted, and he knew he couldn’t blame his mother for that entirely. The bitch certainly hadn’t helped, but he had been too chicken-shit to do anything about his life. Since the outbreak though, he had grown up. He realised what he had to do to get through life. He was head honcho now, and he was proud of what he had become. Rose had come along at just the right time, just after the uprising. It was a chance for a fresh start. Those big blue eyes had drawn him to her, and they hadn’t looked back. Sure, sometimes he had to keep her in check, but on the whole, he could trust her. She was his forever, and that was as long as he wanted it to be.
“You’re my eagle,” she whispered to him as he held her. “Forever and ever.”
Javier had told her early on in their relationship how the bald eagle mated for life. He’d spent a lot of time sitting in front of a TV picking up lots of useless information. He admired the eagle, so powerful and majestic: The King of the Skies. They were loyal too, a quality he admired, but had yet to experience. Rose was like a faithful dog, always at his side, but not always obeying him. She just needed a little more training.
