Stay Dead 2: The Dead and The Dying

by Steve Wands

  He looked back to the window, too afraid to go over and look out. It was a window into hell—the window of his tomb.

  This must be hell, Jim thought.

  Would it get any better?

  Would it get any worse?

  ***

  Sarah slept till daybreak and she woke with a feeling that could only be described as numb. The tears of yesterday were gone and it would seem the well had run dry. She wasn’t all that sad anymore—just numb—hollow.

  There was a burning feeling in her stomach. Hunger. But she didn’t feel like doing anything about it. She was numb and hungry and at least being hungry meant she still felt something. Despite everything it meant she was still alive, and she guessed that was something.

  She walked out of the room and jumped back when she found Jim asleep on the floor at the top of the staircase. He was curled up into a fetal position and looked so peaceful in that way that only sleep could offer.

  She sat down next to him, and hearing the creak of the floor he woke up with a start.

  “Morning,” she offered.

  “Hey,” he said, groggily, wiping the drool from the corners of his mouth.

  “Fell asleep on the stairs, I see.”

  “Yeah, I guessed I just passed out.”

  Then they heard the rumbling of a truck down the street, and they both smiled at each other.

  “Come on!”

  They ran to the window to see if they could catch a glimpse but they saw nothing and the noise faded away.

  “Fuck.”

  “At least it might draw their attention away from us.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “That’s a good thing. It’ll give us some breathing room.”

  Then the doorbell rang.

  21 NOTHING BUT DARKNESS

  (back to top)

  From Eddie’s vantage point he could see a clearing form in the landscape. There were tall apartment complexes in the distance framed out by a warehousing district. Further up, and closer to the road, as it turned into an overpass crossing a bisecting highway was a large cemetery with what looked like deaders walking around its grounds. Eddie pounded on the roof a few times and Scott slowed the truck down. He honked the horn to alert Abdul and in a moment both vehicles came to a stop in the road that overlooked the cemetery.

  “What is it?” Scott called out.

  “Look over there.”

  Eddie pointed out the cemetery and watched intently as deaders pulled themselves out of the earth. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Joseph was watching as well, as was everyone else in the group by now save Carrie and the children.

  These were nothing like the dead they’ve seen so far. Some of these things rising up from the earth were dead for a long time—some for decades, some longer, and of course some for less.

  Somehow, Eddie thought, this was worse than the recently deceased coming back to life. Way worse.

  The first days the news outlets had been reporting incidents of reanimation as rare viral outbreaks. Some had simply called it The Sickness. Others swore it was a large-scale terror attack using bio-weapons and chemical agents. In the end it was all noise. Nobody had known anything about what was happening. The dead digging themselves out of their graves however, cemented in Eddie’s mind that it couldn’t be a virus. This was no sickness. This was no bio-weapon. This was just straight up fucked.

  “Damn bro,” Joseph said, “now that’s fucked up.”

  Scott climbed up the truck to get a better look and regretted doing so. “All that hard work embalming them, and for what?”

  “Man, you can make a joke in any situation, huh?”

  “If you can’t laugh now, when can you?”

  Eddie shook his head.

  “Think about how many chemicals went into those bodies to keep them from rotting. Shit… all us embalmers did was end up making them in better shape to come back and get us. If we didn’t replace their blood with embalming fluids most of them would be nothing but dirt and bones. Don’t you see the irony? Our rituals for self-preservation—even if only of our appearance after death—may be what ensures our destruction.”

  “And you can laugh at that?”

  “Yup.”

  They watched for a bit longer, in rapt attention, as the long dead awoke from their supposed eternal rest. Then, realizing a few abandoned cars were nearby, they searched for one they could drive away in.

  Frankie sat on the roof of the SUV staring out at the dead, seemingly unblinking. He wished he had a cigarette, not that he smoked, or a drink—anything that would give his hands something to do before they found a gun and shoved it into his mouth.

  Jon-Jon is running. There is nothing but darkness behind him. He can hear screams of agony all around. There is a woman laughing and an old man riding a bicycle naked in the street. People are taunting him and pointing at him with fingers like needles. The sky is full of eyes and the rain gutters are spilling over from tears. Dead swollen rats with long hairless tails flow along curbs to clog the storm drains.

  Now he is in the ocean. The water is freezing. His father is telling him to swim. Screaming at him. “If you don’t swim, you’ll drown! You don’t want to drown do you?”

  He can’t answer. His mouth is full of water. He is going under. This is it. His mother is down there, shimmering like the scales of fish, moving as if one with the water.

  She looks beautiful.

  There is a hand at his throat and a tentacle at his foot. The eyes in the sky are staring at him. They are angry. Their tears are salty. Below him is inky blackness. The tentacles are pulling him down into the obsidian nightmare.

  His mother smiles. She is proud of her little boy. Drowning. He kicks his feet and pushes his hands against the water.

  His lungs hurt. They need air. He is going to die down there in the cold waters.

  Then there is air. His mother is gone, his father is clapping, and little Jon-Jon is treading water.

  Jon and his father are at a bar. He has cancer. It doesn’t look good. He has only ever seen his father cry for once before. He’s crying now, not because he’s dying but because he believes he will see his wife again soon. “Very soon,” he tells his son, and this makes him happy.

  Jon is alone. He is drinking. He is drinking alone and always drinking. He is always alone. He is sitting on a barstool with three fingers of whiskey in a glass.

  He’s a regular here. This is oblivion.

  The darkness comes again. It is all around him. Icy water is flooding the floor. He orders another drink. Two fingers. A tentacle comes out of the darkness for each one, wrapping itself around him.

  “Last call.”

  He orders just a finger, but the bartender left him the bottle hours ago. It sits empty in front of him.

  He forgets he’s alone.

  He forgets how dark it is.

  The tentacles pull him into the darkness.

  It smells like wet earth and mold.

  Jon-Jon is running again. He is ten years old and doesn’t understand why his mother is dying. Jon-Jon is running. There is nothing but darkness ahead of him.

  22 SOMETHING WICKED

  (back to top)

  Sarah and Jim stared at each other in disbelief.

  “One of them must’ve hit the doorbell.”

  “Yeah, that’s just weird though. I haven’t heard the doorbell ring for—well, since the first few days of all--”

  The doorbell rang again and then was followed by a thunderous banging. A deliberate three bangs that only another living person would do.

  They returned to staring at each other.

  “Maybe someone from your group saw us come here?”

  “I dunno…maybe?”

  “Let’s go check it out.”

  They slowly descended the stairs, Jim taking the lead and Sarah nervously following behind.

  Jim peered through the peephole and a dead man was smiling at him. Jim jumped back in shock. Sarah stepped forward and took a
look as well. The dead man was now cocking his head to the side but continuing to grin his yellow-toothed grin.

  Sarah started shaking and backing away to the steps.

  “No…no, what the fuck? How? What? What’s happening?”

  “Please don’t tell me that’s your friend?”

  “No. T-that’s the guy who killed my friends.”

  The door rattled in its jamb as the dead man on the other side pounded it with his fist, “Let me in, let me in, little pig!”

  “This can’t be happening!”

  “He can’t get in, okay, it’s locked. He’s…wait a minute…since when do zombies talk? That dude looks dead as shit. And the other zombies aren’t trying to eat him.”

  “This can’t be real.”

  “Hey, piggy, let me in now and I’ll make it quick.”

  “FUCK YOU!”

  “Such a flirt, girlie. Don’t worry I’ll be seeing you in a bit and then we can finish what we started.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “This is hell. How ‘bout you Jimbo? I’ll let you run free if you let me in right now.”

  Jim hesitated and Sarah could see him thinking it over. She began to back up the stairs shaking her head and whimpering.

  “Get lost dirt bag.”

  “Your loss, kid.”

  Jim turned to Sarah, “How did that thing know my name?”

  “What?” She asked, not realizing that he’d called Jim out by name.

  “My name, he knew my fucking name! What is he?”

  “I don’t know! He’s one of them, but he’s different. He’s still himself, he can talk…”

  The sound of the truck starting ended both of their trains of thought.

  “Is there another way out of here?”

  “There’s a back door but I boarded it up cause it’s mostly glass.”

  “A way out the windows? Maybe we can jump to something?”

  The truck roared as it sped toward the house. A crashing noise and the sound of crushing aluminum filled the house. He was driving through the garage door!

  “Let’s try for the kitchen downstairs, maybe we can get out the window.”

  They ran as the sounds grew more chaotic. The noise of the truck filled the house.

  There was a small window behind the sink in the kitchen overlooking the backyard. Jim ran to it and opened it up. He knocked the screen out but while doing so he noticed that if he climbed out the window he’d land right into the arms of the living dead.

  “Fuck. It’s no good. Back upstairs!”

  The noise of the truck seemed to settle and the sound of feet over the garage door took its place.

  “There in!”

  They were in mid-stride as the door to the garage burst opened. It had been locked, but Ben, the dead man with the yellow smile, kicked it open in one shot. His strength appeared to have grown but he knew it was only because he didn’t feel the pain of his movements. Had he been alive he’d have felt his ankle sprain, and his muscles pull and tear. He’d have felt the shattering of his heel and he would recoil in pain instead of following through and making his grand entrance.

  “Jimbo, nice to meet ya.”

  They stopped dead in their tracks and backed into the kitchen. Jim opened the draw of silverware and grabbed the largest knife he could. Sarah grabbed a dirty pan from the sink.

  “Stay back you sicko!”

  “Hey, you know what, I’m a good sport. Go ahead…run.”

  “What? You’re just going to let us run out of here?”

  “Out of the house? No. But go ahead, run upstairs. I’m guessing that’s where the bedroom is, right?”

  Sarah’s face went rigid with disgust.

  “Not like you got any real options. I’ll even back up a step. There. Now go ahead and run.”

  “Fuck it.” Jim took off in a sprint and Ben began to clap his hands and laugh. His laugh sounded like a smoker coughing up a lung.

  Sarah, not seeing any other choice ran right behind Jim, and swatted at Ben as she ran past. The pan hit him in the elbow and he made no gesture to show it even touched him.

  “Okay, now let’s have some fun,” Ben called out as he ran up the stairs behind them.

  Sarah shrieked in terror as she felt his footfalls behind her.

  23 BACK ON COURSE

  (back to top)

  Chuck was following behind the three-vehicle convoy in an old Toyota Corolla. The four men felt like clowns in a clown car but even that was better than holding onto the roof racks of a SUV speeding down the debris covered roadways.

  The roads were far worse than any apocalyptic movie any of them had ever seen. Even The Road Warrior paled in comparison to the landscape of disaster that lay before them.

  Heading north, much like heading to Titan City, seemed like another pipe dream. They hadn’t been on the road a day and already their collective hope was diminishing. Totaling the van and nearly killing Jon-Jon left them road weary and worse for the wear.

  Eddie felt as if he aged ten years as he checked his face in the cosmetic mirror in the cars sun visor. The dark rings and hard lines obscured the youthful man who only weeks ago still thought of himself as nothing more than a kid in a man’s body.

  “You going to put on some eyeliner?”

  “You got some?”

  Chuck shifted uncomfortably, but then Eddie and Joseph laughed.

  “You think the congestion will get any better once we’re out of Jersey?”

  “I don’t know, I figure it would, right? We do have one of the most densely populated states. I’m thinking maybe Massachusetts will be about the same, but I haven’t thought much more about anything other than getting out of Jersey. I guess it all depends on what roads we can travel on and how far they are away from the bigger cities.”

  Chuck nodded, “One thing at a time then I guess.”

  The convoy moved swiftly through the congested roadway. The road seemed to have a rhythm all it’s own. Areas where the road was clear, then congested, then a few sparse autos, then burned out husks and wrecks, and emptiness. It was cyclical. Driving through it you could almost picture how some of it played out. Drivers trying to run each other off the road, others bumping slower drivers to speed it up or get out of the way. Too many egos, too many emotions, and not nearly enough lanes.

  On the empty bits of the road one could notice the trees. Tall and hopeful. Leaves falling to the ground with the most vibrant colors ever seen. Even the blue of the sky seemed particularly bright. The clouds were sparse and blended too well with smoke and ash from the fires of a hell on earth.

  Frankie slept a dreamless sleep. His head rocked with the motion of the vehicle. His eyes opened on occasion and when he figured out he was still stuck in a nightmare he closed his eyes again, hoping harder with each time that he would dream of a better place, or at least a better time.

  Jon-Jon is running again. Darkness is all around. He is alone now. Everyone he loves is dead, and in turn everyone who loved him is dead. There is no greater loneliness. The tentacles lose all their might, the darkness loses its depth, and the cold loses its bite. Lightning strikes in his mind, but it’s not lightning. His eyes are opening and his head aches. The memories, daydreams, and nightmares coalesce. Melding into one reality.

  Jon is awake. His vision blurred, but only for a few waking moments. He hears his name. There is surprise and warmth accompanying it. His vision sharpens and he knows where he is and who is around him.

  “My head is killing me.”

  Dawn wraps her arms around him and hugs him so tight it’s almost violent.

  “Ow,” he yelps.

  “Sorry, just glad you’re awake.”

  “You had us worried,” Judy said.

  “Not me. I knew you’d get up eventually. I just figured you’d try to eat us.”

  “Scott!” Judy slapped his arm.

  “Is everyone okay?” Jon asked, remembering what had happened.

  “Janice is a little banged up b
ut other than that we’re pretty okay.”

  “Sorry, Janice. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “It’s okay Jonathan. You took most of the damage, I think.”

  “Sure feels like it. We…we didn’t lose anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Thank Christ. How long’ve I been out?”

  “Just a few hours.”

  “Are we back on course? Did I miss anything else?”

  Scott answered, “Back on course and moving quick. We had to get out of there in a hurry after you flipped so a bunch of the guys had to hold on to the roof till we could get clear. They got a car now though, so were moving along.”

  24 DESPAIR

  (back to top)

  Jim turned the corner into his bedroom and bolted to the window. He tore off the blinds and opened it with a slam. He kicked out the screen. Sarah was right behind him.

  “Go! Jump, he’s right behind us!”

  Jim hesitated. It was a long fall, and the dead were all over the place.

  “Go!” She screamed.

  “Ben stood in the doorway. His chest not heaving up and down like Jim and Sarah’s. Running didn’t make him out of breath—he had no need for breathing since his body had no longer any need for oxygen.

  “Jimbo, don’t you want to stay and join the party? I know you had some nasty ideas in your own head didn’t ya?”

  “No. No I didn’t.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, kid. She’s a pretty girl, certainly you thought of tying her down and playing stuff the turkey. Actually, I know you did. You watched her while she slept. You wanted her. You didn’t want to risk rejection or time by getting to know her. You just wanted to satiate your need.”