by C. M. Wright
Nothing happens by the time I reach the bottom, so I take off running as fast as I can with my still lame leg, thanking myself for choosing the type of cast I did, and not for the first time! I reach the garage, which sits just before the barns, and rush to the smaller side door. Flinging it open, I throw myself inside and shut the door all in one smooth movement.
Then I turn in the darkness...and walk straight into a pair of arms, which quickly wrap tight around me.
Chapter Eleven
Instantly, I struggle to get free. I can tell immediately that it's a man by the muscled arms and the strength he has. After a few kicks to his shin, and a couple of punches to his face, it finally sinks in that he's calling me by name and begging me to calm down. Finally, I recognize his voice.
“Nick!”
“Canada, I'm sorry! I got back here as fast as I could. Amy wouldn't stop. I think she just freaked out, though. I really don't think she meant to throw you off and leave you.”
I let out a “Ha!” then, “I don't even care about that shit right now. Nick, Jake and Paul are here!”
I hear Nick suck in a sharp breath before saying, “Here? They're here? Did they see you? Are you alright?”
I feel his hands run along my arms and when they near my chest, I grab hold of his wrists to stop them, and say, “They don't know I'm here and I'm fine. The couple who lives here helped me escape. I have a key to a Chevy, so let's find it and get the hell out of here.”
My eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness of the garage and I can make out a car and a truck. Seeing that the car is a Plymouth, I run to the driver's side door of the truck.
Just as Nick and I settle in our seats, and I'm about to turn the key to start the truck, I hear a scream, a woman's scream.
Bert!
I grab Nick's gun and jump out of the truck before Nick can even think to stop me. I pause outside the truck long enough to make sure that the gun has ammo. It does, and it's fully loaded.
By now, Nick has come around the truck and, expecting him to argue with me about going back for the elderly couple, I'm shocked when he instead pulls another handgun from the waistband at the back of his pants. Then he looks at me, his expression serious and concerned.
“You ready?” he asks me.
“Yeah,” I manage to answer.
Yes, I'm frikken scared. I know Jake. Hell! I fought right beside Jake numerous times to know that this is almost a guaranteed suicide. And from what I've heard about Paul being trigger-happy (even if he is a horrible shot) and protective of Jake...I realize I might as well put a bullet in my own head to save them the trouble.
If I were the type to give up, and if I were the type to just make things easier on people, that is.
Nick and I make our way back to the side door, but freeze in front of the car when we see the silhouette of a person on the other side of the dark tinted window. Thinking fast, I grab and jerk Nick's arm to get his attention, then lead us to the other side of the truck. We crouch down just as the door bursts open.
“Damn it, Paul! Couldn't you have found the key to the truck instead of this pansy-ass car?” The frustration and anger in Jake's voice is evident.
“I didn't find any other key. Damn it, Jake! I can't believe you just put a hole in those old people like that. What the hell is wrong with you? You can't just shoot every damn–”
“They were lying! They were fucking lying to me. You know that. Screw you, man! Just screw you. I did what I had to do. No one lies to me.”
Tears fall from my eyes when I hear the confirmation that Jake really had shot Bert and Ernie. All these months of running for my life, in fear of Jake, and all the time I had been held captive by him – raped and beaten repeatedly – it takes him killing this sweet loving couple to send me over the edge. I don't think. I just raise my hand, the one with the gun, and fire without even trying to aim. The rage blinds me anyway.
I hear the gun explode as the bullet is forced from the cold metal. I feel the jerk in my hand as it releases the small, but deadly, piece of lead. I hear a grunt, a scream, then my body is forced to the floor. Fire runs down my right arm and I see rivers of blood flowing freely, then dripping onto the concrete floor.
Vaguely, I realize Nick is shooting over the hood of the truck, then ducking back down. I hear bullets slamming into metal, the dull thud when it slams into the wood of the garage, then silence.
It takes me a few moments to realize that the silence means something. I finally move, scrambling to turn around and get on my stomach to look under the truck. Nick is beside me, and I'm dying to check on him, but I need to know where Jake and Paul are first.
On the opposite side of the car, I can see a man's arm lying on the floor. I notice that the arm is limp, lying lifeless on the cold cement of the garage. I am only able to see that one arm, and that's not good.
Nope, not good at all.
I look around slower, and more carefully than before, checking out the shadows and any other hiding places a person could be. Still nothing. Getting on my hands and knees, I make my way to the front of the truck, where I then take a deep breath and stick my head out before I can give myself time to wuss out.
Seeing movement, my body jerks back immediately. Then it registers that it's only the garage door swinging back and forth from the wind outside.
I lean forward and look again, and that's when I notice the blood leading out the door and dotting the walkway beyond.
Hoping that means that whoever isn't on the ground across the garage from me is now gone, I turn my attention to Nick, who hasn't spoken or moved since the shooting stopped...but I was wrong.
He is moving. He just can't speak.
Before this zombie shit happened for real, people would moan “Braaaiiinnnnssss” when pretending to be zombies. Zombies don't really do that. In fact, they really don't seem to prefer brains over any other part of the body.
So now I'm sure you're assuming that Nick's a zombie, but I wasn't trying to trick you...really! I just got distracted. Nick isn't talking, because he's unconscious, not dead. And he's moving, because he's being pulled by his right arm toward Paul's gaping mouth at the opposite end of the truck.
I grab hold of Nick's left arm out of desperation, not fully capable of thinking about the strength difference between us, but when Paul growls at me, my brain finally kicks in and realizes I'm not going to win this game of tug-a-war. So I let go of Nick long enough to grab the gun and place a well-deserved bullet in Paul's head. The battle over Nick is done.
I win.
Shoving the gun into Nick's waistband where I can easily get to it if I need to – after all, where the hell am I going to stash a gun in a granny-gown – I throw Nick's arm across my shoulder and use the truck to help me stand with his weight.
Opening the door of the truck, I push and shove until Nick is completely inside – not a pretty sight the way I've got the poor kid in there, but at least he's in. Slamming the door, I then limp as fast as I can to the driver's side, jump in, and start the truck at the same time I press the garage door opener. I know locking the doors won't stop a bullet, but I lock them anyway in the hopes that if Jake is still around, he might have lost his gun, or is – hopefully – out of ammo.
In the rearview mirror, I see a couple zombies heading our way from the woods directly behind us. By the time I'm out of the garage, more have emerged. I search the small horde for a familiar face, but Jake's not with them.
I leave the undead behind as I drive around the front of the garage, totally disregarding the driveway, so that I can see where the trail of blood leads.
Away from the house. Perfect.
Knowing I have to check on the older couple, and kill them permanently, turns my stomach into an entire carnival of rides – the big, fast, scary rides. But I can't let them return as zombies, I respect them too much for that. And I believe that that is what they would want me to do.
I take the gun from Nick, grab the keys, and warily get out of the t
ruck. I then lock the doors in a feeble attempt to protect Nick, before rushing to the back door. Throwing the door open, I take two steps inside before I remember again that the older couple have been shot and could already now be members of the undead.
Gasping out “Shit!” as I throw myself back outside, I then force myself to calm down, and use my head before I lose it.
Holding the gun out in front of me, I move back inside...with extreme caution this time, though. I listen to every sound, and yes, jump every time I do hear something. I do my very best to use my non-existent x-ray vision to see through walls and doors, but when I reach the swinging door to the kitchen, what I get is not at all what I expect.
The bullet tears through the air, zinging past my ear and burying itself in the wall next to me. I scream and throw myself backwards – back through the door I just entered, and my head slams, and bounces at least twice, on the hardwood floor when I land.
“Canada? Was that you, sweetie?” Bert's voice calls out to me, shaky with fear.
I feel my eyes roll round in my head, but I force a response, “Yeah, Bert. It sure was.”
“Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. Come back in, I won't shoot you this time.”
I struggle to get up, letting out a gasp, and feel my face contort into a painful grimace when it feels like a knife is stuck into both sides of my head when I lift it off the floor. My hands fly up to hold it in place, and an image of Humpty Dumpty pops up in my scrambled brain.
I now know how that damn egg felt.
Under my breath, I mutter and curse Bert as every movement brings new pain to my poor head.
“What's that dear? I couldn't hear you,” she calls out.
I almost do the right thing and not repeat it, but I blame the pain – and the violent head trauma – for my next mistake.
“I said...if I ever get off this floor, I'm going to stick that damn gun up your ass!”
I enter the room as I end my outburst to find Bert sitting on the floor with Ernie's head in her lap. Ernie's eyes are wide open and shooting laser beams of death in my direction. I feel bad when I see the hurt look on Bert's face – I really do – but just as I open my mouth to apologize, Ernie cuts me off and tells me to come to him.
Like an idiot, I do.
Well, shit! It's not like I was expecting him to slap me across my damn face!
Were you?
Well, maybe you were.
Bert immediately gets onto Ernie for slapping me, but his next words shut her up, and leave me even more speechless that I was before.
“I will not have a child of mine talking to her mother that way! Go to your room, young lady.”
I begin to explain that I'm not his child – he has no children, but he hears none of it. He's fully convinced I'm his and Bert's daughter!
Bert tries to explain, but it does no good. He's in another reality completely. I finally catch Bert's attention and let her know that it's okay. Then I quickly look them both over. Bert has been shot in the arm. Ernie has a lump on his head, which could be the very reason he's so confused, and blood soaks the shirt covering his stomach.
I deal with Bert first since I'll need her help with Ernie. I take a thin dishcloth and tie it tightly around her arm, then we work together to pack the bullet hole in Ernie's stomach. There's not much else I can do, knowing Jake could show up and kill us all at any time, and there's still a horde out there coming this way.
Together, Bert and I help Ernie out to the truck. Bert holds him propped against the side of the vehicle as I unlock the door and reposition Nick so that we can all get inside. It's a tight squeeze, but we manage.
I tear out of their driveway and leave the farm behind...and hopefully, leave a seriously wounded – or dead – Jake behind too. The further we drive, the more the zombie population increases. Ernie's mind seems to clear up pretty quickly, as he no longer thinks I'm his daughter – which is a godsend, because he can now lead me to back to Missouri, avoiding St. Louis after I explained how destroyed and overrun it was when Jake and I left it.
Several hours later, we pass a sign that reads,
Welcome To Missouri
and I just start bawling my head off. I honestly never believed I would make it this far.
I pull over to give myself time to recover from the overwhelming emotions and to check on the three others. Nick had finally woke up less than an hour after we had left the farm. A bullet had grazed his head and he believes he may have whacked his poor head on the truck, then the floor, when he went down. His head is fine...well, to him it hurts like a bitch, but he'll live.
Nick then took over trying to clean and bandage my arm, which was fortunately just a graze, and Bert and Ernie's wounds. Neither bullet had exited on the elderly couple, so he got the fun job of trying to dig them out. Surprisingly, Bert's was the worst. He really had to get in and dig that one out. I don't think I will ever get Bert's screams out of my head. It was just so horrible...and I wanted to scream and hit Nick for hurting her, even though I knew he was only doing what he had to do.
Ernie's bullet was just inside the last layer of skin on his back, almost making it through, which was a relief, but we still have the added worry of all the blood he had lost, and we don't know if the bullet had damaged anything inside that could potentially kill him.
Nick disinfected them both, wrapped Bert's arm, and repacked Ernie's stomach. He also was able to give them some painkillers from the survival pack he keeps with him. I encouraged Nick to take some too, but he refused, wanting to be able to help me if I needed him.
And I did. Several times.
I had to stop often for bottled water, food, and bathroom breaks, which Nick helped with...well, all but helping Bert to the bathroom.
Bert's bladder must be incredibly small, that's all I have to say.
But the time I was most grateful for Nick being drug-free, was when we had stopped for yet another bathroom break – Again, for Bert! – and as I was helping Bert back to the truck, another truck squealed its tires as it pulled into the parking lot, sliding to a stop right in front of us. The parking lot of the truck-stop was full of vehicles, and a few zombies, but they were stuck inside their trucks. The rest of the living, or living-dead, must have moved on long ago.
I can only assume that since the parking lot was so full, the truck's occupants, who are now directly in front of us and blocking our way, must not have seen Nick and Ernie waiting on us in our own truck, as they never paid them any attention. The big black truck had three men inside, men who were up to no damn good.
It was obvious their intentions were evil just from the big stupid cocky grins on their faces. What the driver leaned out to say confirmed my first impression.
“Well, well. Look what we have here, boys. Coupla ladies who look like they need some big strong fellas to protect them.” The driver's lip curled as he sneered at us. Then he pointed a gun out the window in our direction and said, “But...we ain't got no use for old broads.”
I pushed Bert behind me and the driver opened his door. He stepped out of the truck and brought his gun up again, but before he could voice whatever snide comment he planned to let out of his open mouth, a shot rang out. His body jerked once, then crashed to the ground. I pulled Bert behind a nearby car so that we didn't get hit in the crossfire, and watched as the other two died where they sat.
Not long after, Nick ran over to us to help me get Bert back to the truck. But as we passed the driver, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of my nightgown – yes, I'm still wearing the damn thing! I tried stomping on his head, but ballerina slippers just won't do much damage. When he came much too close to taking a bite out of my foot, Nick finished him with a bullet to the brain.
Before we could even sigh with relief, the other two men in the truck started moaning and moving around. Then the moans became more than the two lone men could produce. We looked up, and around, to see many more undead heading straight for us.
We ran to our truck and made it in plenty of tim
e to get inside and get moving, before the majority of the undead converged on the truck-stop. Bert was the most upset – well, Ernie was pretty upset too. He's still blaming himself for not being able to protect his wife, bullet-hole in the stomach and all.
Bert sobbed and said to us, “I just don't understand. We, the living, are less in numbers than the zombies,” – this is not a confirmed fact, but it sure as hell seems like it – “yet we have people still wanting to kill and harm each other. What is wrong with some people? We should be fighting together against the zombies, not helping them!”
Ernie held her close and responded, “I know, Mama. I know. But most criminals and sinners aren't going to change just because something like this happens. Some people just enjoy being bad, and they'll take advantage of any situation that gives them the freedom to wreak havoc on the world.”
I just kept my mouth shut. No one here knows what I did back in Missouri to the rednecks. And I'm damn sure not going to enlighten them. But yes, I am definitely feeling some guilt.
So now we're stopped on the side of the interstate just after crossing into Missouri.
As I said before, I really never expected to get this far – to make it back to this state again. And not because of the truck stop incident just a few miles back, or even because of the zombies. It was because of Jake. I expected him to have found and killed me. Hell! To be honest, I really expected to die not long after Jake kidnapped me.
I just plain expected to die, in one way or another, by Jake's hands.
Have I made it to my family yet? No. Not even close. Could he still kill me if he's still alive? You and I both know he could.
And now, thanks to that little bit of something to look forward to, I'm no longer overwhelmed by relief and happiness. I'm just ready to get the hell out of here and as far from Jake, whether he be dead or undead, as I can get.
