by Victor Cruz
Countless cold hands were now clenching at his limbs and he had now been pulled down to his knees. All over his body, the teeth were beginning to sink into him. A bullet hitting his spine was the last favor given to him by the pursuing soldiers, ending any feeling he had left.
More dead were surrounded Mason who unable to move and could do nothing, but helplessly watch them approaching. Still coherent, he noticed that some of the dead were the soldiers from earlier. One, in particular, was the female soldier that he had killed by shooting multiple times through her torso. Her helmet was off her head and the strap was loosely hanging from her neck that was spider webbed with blackened veins.
She limped towards him and with her new gauntly pale and stiffened face. Her hands were reaching out towards him to grab at his body that was made for good eating. At least he thought so, even if it was out of pure arrogance.
Her dead eyes were completely white and her mouth was oozing black blood out of her ugly snarling face. From behind her, came a familiar face. It was Kenneth, and he shared a similar face to the other dead.
After what you did, tonight, Ken. Come have a bite. You’ve earned it. Mason humored himself.
Walking side-by-side with the female soldier they were both only inches away from him. It was then, that Mason finally realized.
I guess you don’t need to be bitten. Well, that’s good to know. Mason thought to himself, while patiently waiting to die.
Kenneth and his new companion both grabbed at Mason. So close, he could read what the woman’s last name on her uniform was. He could feel his eardrums vibrating from within due to their incessant groans.
“DO IT ALREADY!” Mason yelled.
The groans were silenced and Kenneth and the soldier both fell to the ground before Mason even realized he heard gunshots. It took him another split second to realize that the soldiers weren’t the ones who killed them.
It was his little brother.
Out of the roof of the slow-moving departing bus, Maxson had opened the roof. Sticking out of the top hatch, with the military rifle in his hands, Maxson had the rifle to his shoulder.
Mason could see that he was standing on top of the shoulders and was being steadied by the burly man with the red beard who grunted at him while he held the door open earlier. Further supported by the Latino male that offered the comforting smile.
Mason grunted in appreciation to the two strangers who helped his brother. The grunt caused him to coughing choke on his own blood.
Maxson’s barrel was lowered and already aiming in his direction before Mason realized his brother’s aim wasn’t at the dead.
It was leveled on him with his final bullet of the rifle, chambered and ready.
Mason couldn’t feel, but only heard the creature’s around him beginning to feast on his limp body. His attention was given to his brother, the man that he had grown up with his entire life and the one he would share his final moment with.
They had never told each other how they felt about the other. Their bond, beyond words, could all be conveyed without them.
You will always be my little brother. It is now your turn to learn how to lead. Take care of her for me, Maxson.
Mason couldn’t hear what his brother said, and he couldn’t even read his brother’s lip due to the distance, but he felt Maxson telling him somehow.
I will.
Through his relief, Mason now felt ready.
Aim steady and true, brother, just like dad taught us. I don’t want to come back.
Maxson’s rifle muzzle flashed bright, before everything suddenly went dark for Mason; forever.
His brother, Maxson, having successfully fulfilled his final wishes.
He would not come back.
the Parson farm
(a few months later)
Last night’s violent storm concluded with the sun rising over the horizon like a phoenix soaring to reclaim its rightful spot in the sky. Its ascension was peacefully serenaded by mourning doves that sang glorious gratitude. Morning’s mugginess had evaporated most of the dewy glisten from the grass that was drying under the summer sun without a cloud to cast shade.
Winds powerful enough to tear shingles off of the roof of the classic Victorian styled home had pass through. It was a large 8-bedroom, countryside home that was over 15 miles West of the city and isolated far off the main road. Standing two stories tall with an attic tall enough to walk around, it was the tallest building in the countryside. Big bay windows that curved with the wraparound deck, was a marvel of the times. But those times were long ago, and as beautiful as the home was it, it began to look like it was falling apart. Evolving with the collapse of civilization itself.
The elderly couple, Arthur and Ruth Belle who previously owned the home had perished not long before their group of survivors arrived. Henry, the old man at the wheel, of the bus breaking down had luckily spotted it during their escape from Rockport’s rec-center.
Arthur Parson and Ruth Parson. Married for 43 years. Maxson Devereaux had learned after going through their personal things after inheriting their place in a world without rules. It was common for the elderly to be few and far between nowadays. Even though they had a few old timers in their own group.
Before the city of Rockport had fallen, there were reports of hospitals losing patients by the thousands. Without proper medicine, many were no match for the chaos and havoc that this new world would unleash upon them.
Maxson had deduced that Ruth had fallen before the husband since she was buried and he wasn’t. A small patch of dirt in the back between the house and the barn under a large oak tree provided her last resting grounds.
Arthur was found lying on top of her grave with the gun in still ins his skeletal hand. His devotion to the woman loved wouldn’t even allow death to do them part. Long decomposed, it was practically a miracle that he had been untouched by roaming coyotes, wolves or even flesh eaters. They had been known to eat dead things just as much as living things. The .357 revolver found in Arthur’s hand only had one missing bullet which made Maxson wonder why a man planning to take his own life would load the gun with more than one.
He didn’t know the couple, but Maxson felt compelled to bury the old skull and bones next to his wife. It was satisfying for him to know that the couple would eternally rest under the oak tree that had their initials, “AP+RP”, carved deeply into it. A heart enclosed the initials together.
He had buried him almost six months ago and Diego had made the grave markers that were two small white crosses. Maxson found himself still staring at the burial site from time to time that included two extra grave markers that Diego had made. The Latino man had said it was the least he could do to honor his brother’s sacrifice. There were no bodies for him to dig graves for, but Diego felt the group needed to remember the two.
They paid the ultimate price, to ensure the rest of their group’s survival that night at Rockport’s Rec-Center..
Rest in peace, brother… I hope I did right by you, that night.
Maxson refocused to put the hammer back into his toolbelt and took a moment to wipe the sweat that was summoned under the simmering summer sun from the sky above. Letting go of the board he was holding for Maxson and standing tall, but not as tall and next to him, was Yargan Othur.
He was a big burly man with a long red beard and hair that looked like a brushfire. A foreigner whose English was nonexistent, Maxson still had no idea how he ended up in America or even where he was from for the longest time. His size and his willingness to try and contribute any way he could, made Maxson take an instant liking to him. It had taken them a day to figure out one another’s name, and most of the time their conversations were simple grunts.
Over a month’s time, it would take Maxson just to find out that Yargan was Scottish and Danish. The fact was nothing less than expected by the looks of the brawny man. Maxson could fully envision the man’s ancestors wearing kilts or Viking helms on the battlefield. By the way he was built, Yargan cam
e from a line of warriors.
The two of them took a few steps back on the front of the wraparound deck. They looked at the wooden boards that they had just nailed over the windows together. Normally it wouldn’t have been such an achievement to hammer a nail, but tapping the metal head while covering it with a rag to cause as little noise as possible was different. Especially when Yargan barely talked and always had a deep stare that made even Maxson uncomfortable.
“Job well done, if I do say so myself,” He said to Yargan, but might as well have just stayed silent. Yargan looked at him with a blank stare and offered up nothing. Not a smile, not a nod, not a shake or even a hand gesture; just stared back at him. “Thanks Yargan.”
Yargan understood that and hit his large fist over his barrel chest. He always gave a small smile out of the corner of his mouth when he did it. “Mack-Son.”
Maxson punched at his own chest, realizing that him and Yargan may never ever have a conversation deeper than this. A sense of disappointment overcame him briefly, until Maxson saw a femininely hourglass shadow forming. The shadow swelling at its bustline to slim down at the waist and widen back out at the hips.
“Devereaux! Where izzz you?” The thick Latina accent preceded the individual that it belonged to. It wasn’t her grammar, but the way she said it that signaled to Maxson that she needed him to do something.
“Catalina,” Maxson acknowledged stoically to remain distant from her uncertain intentions. He faced away from the two story, four-bedroom home that was located on the very outskirts of Rockport. His arm extended toward the boards that were covering the windows. “Look. This should stop them from jumping through the window again.”
“You should have done first thing when we stopped in this dump. You-no-get praise from me,” Catalina’s arms crossed across her busty chest and her hips cocked outwards with one finger waving firmly at Maxson. Her grammar wasn’t always perfect, but she knew how to get her point across either way. Already fully knowing that they didn’t have the two by fours back then and was just making a point to be unremorsefully unreasonable. “Now stop playing around, Marge and I need you to make a supply run.”
Why me? There were a lot of other members of the group that weren’t pulling their weight and he was the one being accused of wasting time.
“Playing around? Where the hell is Dustin, Pete, Scott or everyone else for that matter? Do you know that today, I woke up at the break of dawn to fetch us water even though we had enough? I’ve chopped wood s–,” Maxson’s ranting preach came to a halt by Catalina who didn’t have ears for him.
Catalina stated in an antagonizing and condescending manner, “There’s never enough water, but go ahead and continue your whining.”
Maxson continued, but this time less confidently. “okay… like I was saying…I’ve chopped us wood…”
Catalina interrupted again, “You mean the wood that I am going to use to boil that water so I can help Marge and Suzie cook us the stew? The stew that Mabel spent all day preparing from her garden so we can actually eat vegetables? Is that the wood you would be referring to?” Catalina retorted and waited for Maxson to cringe at her words before grinning.
Maxson let out a low grumbling groan emit from his throat deciding he wasn’t even going to mention that he was currently fortifying the shelter. Maxson knew when to hold them. And more importantly, when to fold them.
“Maxson, are you lost?” Catalina asked.
I’m a big-city-guy in the country. Of course, I am.
“No. Why?” Maxson asked back.
“Because you still haven’t found me a good answer for why you are still standing here and not shaking a leg.” Catalina sent another dagger to keep him down.
I’ll show you a shake of the leg.
Maxson walked off the deck and towards Catalina who was eyeing him the entire way and not budging one inch. He could tell she was waiting for him to say something, but became too impatient to give him the opportunity to summon any sort of insolent words.
“Don’t look at me this way,” Catalina began. “And you need a haircut!”
Maxson could hear her channeling Mason through her words. “I have no idea how my brother put up with you.”
“He treated me like the Queen that I was… and am still,” Catalina took little to no offense and snipped pridefully back. It had been long enough for the two to joke about Mason which they used as a way to keep his memory alive ever since.
Yeah, Queen Bi– Internalized Maxson who simply shook his head with a smile, knowing better than to continue antagonizing her. He had seen Mason make the mistake of using that word with her before and it became a night that everyone wanted to forget.
Maxson had no intention of extending her ever growing list of chores to nag him about.
He planned on coming back and getting his neck, shoulders and strained back rubbed later on by Belle who had sweetly offered. Soft hands from a beautiful younger woman would surely soothe his aches and pains. The perfect way to end the night.
Maxson walked off with Catalina and Belle-Lyanna both on his mind. They had accepted the death of their loved ones without ever blaming anybody for their death. It was a fact that Maxson was grateful for.
I don’t know if I could bear that sort of guilt.
He made his way around the old home to the garage that was built onto the side, and in addition to the old home. Like the barn, it was much nicer than the residential property that stood next to them and obviously built after the house was. Before he could reach the garage, he saw a small man walking towards him. His eyes were squinting as he tried to look at Maxson. “Maxson, is that you?”
“How’s it going Mr. Tritt?” Maxson said.
“Call me Howard, Maxson,” Howard said with a pleasant smile, but with squinting eyes. He had lost his eyeglasses during the rec center and had been rendered nearly useless around the place since they got there. “I hear you’re going on a supply run.”
“I will definitely look for a pair of glasses for you sir,” Maxson said with a smile and light pat on his small hunched frail shoulders.
“Thanks, Maxson,” Howard said with hope and excitement. “I just want to help around here.”
“I know you do, sir,” Maxson said to the older man. “And I want to help you.”
“Well, I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy. A young man always is. Be safe out there, son,” Howard hobbled aside as fast as his older frame could allow him to.
“Thank you, sir,” Maxson gave him a nod of appreciation as he walked towards the garage.
Maxson lifted the garage door by digging his fingers underneath and pulling it up to slide it open. It creaked and clanked before it came to a metal pounding stop to reveal what was inside the garage.
I love this truck.
The beastly red pickup truck with black trim that they had a dirt bike in the back of the bed when they found it. The dirt bike now rested next to it and was propped on its stand against the wall of the garage. The truck served as their main excursion vehicle due to its big black rim covered mud tires that could get them anywhere, paved or not. It had more than enough power to tow, more than enough room to carry transport scavenged supplies and it certainly had more than enough armor.
It had been reinforced by Henry Bartlett, back when he was in good health and contributing more than his fair share to the group. He knew cars up and down and overall could pretty much fix anything that had gone wrong with any vehicle he came across. Henry was the type of guy that would always go above and beyond which the big red pickup was a testament to. Maxson had asked him one day to put a plow on the front bumper and a week later came back surprised to find it completely overhauled with armor. Bars spray painted black covered every window, including the windshield to stop anything from entering through them or prevent anybody from inside being pulled out. He had custom built black metal fender covers that were screwed in and hung over the top half of the tire. They prevented anything from using the tire as a step and al
so protect the top half of the tire from damage.
On the front of the truck was the black plow that was angled out in the center and would split crowds of dead apart if they tried to stop them dead on. He even put a row of black floodlights on top of the truck which was a surprised because Maxson had no idea where he found them. Without the truck, their supply runs would have been a lot less successful. They had encountered a few swarms that would have been fatal without the two-ton truck that could drive over and through them.
Walking around the truck brought Maxson to a pair of lockers that were padlocked. Using a key, he unlatched the metal lock and opened it under the sound of squeaking metal. Inside the locker was the group’s small armory of weapons that they had found on their journey so far. While most carried a sidearm on them, they stored the heavier artillery along with the extra ammunition in the locker. Maxson grabbed the notebook that hung inside the locker where they took inventory of their ammo. It was Colton’s responsibility to take their ammo inventory and keep track of when the last time guns were cleaned.
“I knew it,” Maxson knew he should have known better than to trust the man he called his best friend. While he was loyal and brave, he wasn’t exactly responsible or smart.
Just then, the door that lead into the house opened and Colton Keaton came stepping out. Maxson had grown up with the blonde-haired man prior to the outbreak and had known him since they were kids. His beady eyes always appeared innocent, but Maxson knew better and could always see the good-natured mischief hidden within them. Colton’s small blue eyes widened at Maxson’s glare. Originally from Texas, before moving up north and becoming friends with Maxson. Even after all of these years of living outside of the Lone Star State, he had never lost the southern twang in his voice. “What? What’d I do?”
“You know what,” Maxson raised the notebook so that Colton could see it. “This is your responsibility.”
“Aw, c’mon Maxson. You know we have enough ammo,” Colton shrugged it off with his usual care free attitude.
