“Surprise. Surprise.” She mocks, pushing the garments aside to uncover a long black object on the floor, nestled on top of a row of combat boots. It’s much lighter than she expected. Her finger traces over silver inlaid symbols that look to be Chinese. She had never held a katana before. She never really had a reason to.
Becka grips the scabbard with her left hand and the handle with her right. Slowly she frees the long blade. She finds the sliding sound it makes to be very cool, just like the movies. She returns the steel into its housing and slings the sword over her shoulder by its leather strap.
Satisfied that she has retrieved the most useful item in the room, she is ready to leave. This brings harsh reality into view. It dawns on her, leaving this musty lair means facing the zombies, and Stevie.
She pauses at the door with her hand on the knob. Eye level with the enormous breasts she takes in a few quick breaths.
“OK.” She opens the door wide. The hall is empty except for Stevie’s moans. Her heart races as she walks over the squeaky floor, she can feel it throb in her temples and in the small wound on her finger. She glances at the smear of blood that had dried into the crevices of her fingerprint.
Stealthily, she moves to the bathroom, which divides the distance between Billy’s room and Derek’s mom’s. From here she can see Stevie is still pinned to the king sized bed, writhing like something from an entomologist‘s collection.
The door precludes her from seeing his head, but she can see his naked legs, the cuff of his jeans still cling to one of his ankles. His skin is mostly gone and she can see the muscle below has been eaten. Some areas are stripped to the bone. His genitals are gone, devoured. Just a short time ago they were in her own mouth. The thought of this hits her with a wave of nausea. She breaks out in a cold sweat. The icy beads on her forehead conflict with the hot prickly feeling she has all over her flushing body.
She barges into the bathroom in a beeline to the toilet. Her hand is clasped over her mouth in an attempt to stave back the vomit. A fluffy pink cozy covers the lid of the bowl. She lifts the plush cover as she crouches in front of the receptacle. Her last ounce of self-control is used to gather her long black hair in one hand, pulling it aside.
She lets it out. The acidic bile scours her throat as she retches. The lid falls, unable to remain vertical with the thick pink decoration in the way. Her regurgitation douses the flat surface. Vomit splashes in every direction. Her pants are instantly soaked through.
In between her heaves she cries. Her tears are not for her ruined clothes or for the awful, sick feeling. She cries for Stevie. She weeps for what she had done. Her stomach runs empty and she lays her head on the filthy toilet. She cries for what she still has to do.
Becka stands up. Her pants adhere to her thighs. She takes a pink hand towel from the side of the sink and wipes her mouth. Passing the mirror on her way out of the restroom she can barely look at herself. The cheerleader is a mess. Her hair is in tangles and she has sweated through her dirty clothes. Millions of minute glittering particles cling to her, making her skin feel gritty. Aside all these flaws, it isn’t her appearance she can’t stand the sight of. She can’t face what she is about to do. She can’t watch herself depart on this task. She has to kill Stevie again.
Standing outside the master bedroom that used to be off limits to the trio, Becka unsheathes the sword that now seems to weigh a ton. She leans against the door to keep her friend out of sight, but she can still hear him. The most popular girl in school forces herself to enter.
Stevie is lethargically flailing his limbs, apparently puzzled as to how to get off the bed. He is positioned differently than when Becka had previously looked in at the boy. He must have heard me in the bathroom. He has swung himself around and his upper portion now dangles off the corner of the bed. His eyes track his once friend as she enters. He tries to reach for her though she keeps her distance.
Becka slowly gets closer to his head. She looks into the eyes of her brilliant friend who used to help her with her schoolwork. His eyes are empty now. Stevie isn’t home. This creature is not her friend. She won’t allow herself to think otherwise.
The zombie continues to grab at the air. His moans sound more urgent, his flailing more erratic. He is hungry and wants only to slake his appetite. Becka raises the sword over her head.
“I’m so sorry.”
The blade falls into his forehead. It buries itself a mere inch or two. He has no reaction. He feels no pain. The boy’s legs are trying to push his body off the bed, his heels dig into the blood soaked comforter.
The blade is stuck. Becka tries to pull it free, but Stevie’s skull won’t let it go. As she wrestles with the sword she realizes the only way to remove the katana is to slide it towards her and slice his head as if it were a loaf of bread. She drags the steel out.
The wound is a deep red furrow that doesn’t bleed. She brings the sword down on to his head again, parallel to the last strike. This blow doesn’t go much further than the last. Stevie is getting more impatient, his food is almost taunting him. He twists his body still reaching for her, desperate to gain a few more inches.
The sword is wrenched out of Becka’s hands by his movement. She backs up. The katana remains in Stevie’s head, lost to her now as he contorts impossibly in his efforts to get a hold of her. The wound around the bedpost is stretching, the skin widening and tearing from strain.
The cheerleader looks around the room in a panic. His moans and actions are getting to her. She wants to silence him. She looks for anything she can use to put him to rest.
A wooden chair sits against the wall. She grabs the seat with both hands and lunges at the dead boy. The chair crashes down on his head over and over. She strikes until the boy stops moving and his limbs fall limp.
Becka collapses into a weakened heap. She looks at what she has just done, the results of her handiwork. Stevie’s head is misshapen. The bones are shattered below a sack of broken skin. It doesn’t even look like the teenager she once knew. She feels sick to her stomach, but forces herself to toss the crimson encrusted bedspread over her friend’s now still body. She leaves him and heads to the bathroom once more. She feels the need to be clean.
13
Dan sits on the roof pondering the situation. He wonders what time it is. He doesn’t wear a watch. Usually he just uses his cell phone. That’s long gone. The girl, Barbara, remains clinging to the chimney.
The soldier lights yet another cigarette with the cherry of his last. He flicks the stub as far as he can over the side of the house, hoping it hits one of the dead below. The man pulls out his locket.
Dan gazes at his wife’s picture, remembering that day. She was decorating the Christmas tree and he had snuck up with the camera for a candid shot. Her beautiful green eyes sparkle in her captured surprise. He now looks to the empty space on the other half, the spot reserved for his son or daughter’s picture. His head nods slowly as a determined look sculpts his face. He kisses the image of Heather. “I’m coming home, baby. I just have to figure out how.”
He looks to the near catatonic girl as he begins to crawl along the peak of the roof. “I’ll be right back, Barb.”
“Kay.” Is all she can say in response. It’s actually more than he expected from her.
Dan is heading to the side of the house facing the city. He peers across the alley to the neighboring roof. Its peak is forty feet away. No go, he contends.
He carefully turns to face the other direction. Across the street something catches his eye. He swears he saw a curtain move. He doesn’t know if it’s in his head, or if there is an actual breathing audience out there. He disregards the possible spectator. There are just too many non-breathers to worry about.
Dan has to skirt around the girl to reach the other side. He finds the neighbor’s home over here is closer, only twenty feet to the lowest part, a built on garage. The roof to the garage is pitched slightly, but he knows he can clear the distance. The only foreseeable drawback is
the yard itself. This next one isn’t closed off to the street. Their alley is open. He has a plan now that he believes can’t fail. He derives his confidence on the homes color. It’s green.
He starts to search his pockets. He knows he must have at least one usefully dispensable item as his mind catalogs the objects he feels. Keys? No. Jerky? No. Locket? Definitely not. His hand feels a bulge in one of his cargo pockets. He removes it not knowing what it could be. Even after the thing is before his eyes he wonders why he is carrying a television remote. The party! He remembers getting it a Jimmy’s.
He points the black wand at the plume of smoke that is Jimmy’s backyard and hits power. He watches the dead intently for a moment, they don’t move. They remain around Barbara’s house, pacing aimlessly. He tries to turn up the volume and hitting power again and again. Am I too far? He wonders. Is the power out?
He can’t recall how their electricity is made in Waterloo. He doesn’t know if it would go out if people weren’t around to run the plant. Not like Newcastle where his uncle lives.
Newcastle’s power comes from Parson’s Dam, one of the largest in the world. His uncle always talked about it and how it could run on its own for many years without a soul. ‘Indefinite power’ he would proudly proclaim as the principal shareholder. That’s how he got his money.
Dan hurls the remote, agitated that his plan is a bust. It sails to the home next door, crashing through one of the downstairs windows. A handful of dead break away from the horde to investigate.
Dan looks at the cars parked along the street. There is a delivery truck a little further down towards the dead end. He is considering trying to shoot at one of the vehicles, but doubts very highly he can hit just the right spot to blow it up.
“Only one bullet and no scope.” He shakes his head. Dan wonders if he can get him and the girl to that truck. He bets the keys are in it, but he needs to get the dead moving away from it first.
Looking beyond the neighbors and into the Admiral’s yard, he can see a barbecue grill that the old man won’t be using anytime soon. I know that works.
A black cover shrouds the grill, he can see the bottom of its white propane tank peeking out from underneath. The soldier can see where the plastic bulges around the outline of the gas tank. He un-slings his rifle and lies down on his stomach. He must make this shot count. It has to fly true because he doesn’t have a second chance.
The hand guard is nestled into the crook of Dan’s elbow for stability. He takes careful aim. His heart thumps inside his chest so hard it feels like a basketball bouncing against the roof. The soldier knows he must slow his heart rate; its current palpitating is making the sights of his rifle jump with every contraction. He tries to rationalize it. Even if I miss, one bullet won’t do much to save us anyway. He takes a deep breath and exhales half of it, just like they taught him. You save the rest in your lungs until you have fired. He squeezes the trigger.
The backyard becomes an inferno as the tank blows with a loud boom. The grill completely disappears from sight. The concussive force blows the awning over the tub away, and the windows of the house inwards. A large hole is visible next to the sliding glass door, which remains oddly unscathed.
“I think I know where the grill went.” Dan says with a smile as he backs away from the edge of the roof. The explosion had propelled the grill through the wall. He watches the zombies below start to make their way to the Admiral’s house. The dead trapped in Barbara’s back yard are heading towards the fence. Dan hurries over to the girl.
He finds her shaking and holding onto the brick even harder than before. The noise must have scared her. I’m such an asshole, Dan scolds himself. I should have warned her first.
“Barbie doll, are you alright? I’m sorry about the noise. It should buy us some time. We have to go to that house over there.” He says to her in a whisper as he points.
“The Thompsons?” She asks, mimicking his hushed tone.
“Yup, the Thompsons.”
“They kill Bambi.”
“Sorry?”
“Every year with my Daddy. They eat it to. I won’t eat it.”
What the hell are you talking about? Dan wants to ask. Bambi? He realizes she means deer. They’re hunters. That’s a good thing.
“I wouldn’t either.” Dan tells her as he eases her fingers loose from the brick and mortar. He guides her to the edge of the roof. The dead have all ambled to Ahab’s place to check out the noise.
“I want you to climb down this drain pipe to the fence below.” He tells her. “See where your yard is divided by that fence? It shouldn’t be too hard, but you need to keep quiet. I’m too heavy for the pipe, so I will be jumping over to that roof. Right on top of the Thompsons’ garage.”
She looks at him as if he has two heads. His plan sounds crazy to the little girl. The plan he is convinced will work based on the color of the paint job.
“It’ll work.” He tries to assure her. “You know how I know?”
She shakes her head.
“The house is green.” He actually smiles when he says it. “Not as pretty as my wife’s eyes, but I have decided that green means good.”
She doesn’t look that convinced, he gets her started by lowering her to the pipe. Her bare toes use the brackets that hold the pipe to the wall as rungs as she slowly makes her way down.
Dan watches her for a second before walking to the chimney. He reclaims his flak jacket and fastens it tight. He adjusts how his rifle is slung so it sits across his back diagonally. Although it is out of ammo he doesn’t want to lose it just yet.
With a running start he knows he can make the distance, it’s the landing that concerns him. He can’t leave Barbara hanging in the wind too much longer. He takes a few quick puffs of air in preparation and takes off. The soldier sprints along the slanted surface. The angle makes top speed impossible to achieve as he heads to the edge. He leaves the shingled surface, hurling himself across the divide.
#
Worried eyes watch the daring scene unfold on the other side of the street. An onlooker holds her breath as a man in fatigues flies through the air, and a scared little girl climbs down the side of her home.
She has seen the girl before, but they had never met. She hopes they make it. The spectator’s eyes close and she says a prayer for them.
#
Dan lands on the roof with his chest, his legs slam against the side of the garage. He falls backwards to the grass below. The soldier’s body throbs from the self-induced battering. If he could, he would lie there for a while, but he knows he must help Barbara.
He moves through the pain, scaling the dividing fence. The dead in the backyard have not noticed them yet. They are still trying to figure out how to get to the origin of the sound they had heard. The small girl is almost to the wooden wall that blocks the alley of her home. She has only a couple of feet to go.
Barbara looks back to make sure the stranger is there. The pipe she clings to jolts, breaking away from the wall. She screams as her feet lose contact, dangling in midair. The dead have heard her. They turn to face the survivors. Dan watches them start to head their way.
“Barbwire, kick out.” He instructs her. She is terrified but able to comply. Her bare feet swing up and meet the red exterior, she shoves out as hard as she can. Dan extends himself over the fence as she falls towards him. The white gutter slows her descent. He catches her under her arms and whisks her over the wall.
He pulls the girl by her hand around the green house. He fears the dead on the street have heard her as well and may come looking for them. He palms windows in passing, looking for an open one. He has no such luck. The sliding door on the back patio is locked as well. Dan hears the moans of the dead.
The two are almost to the corner and they are running out of windows. Dan doesn’t want to take the girl around into the alley just to become trapped, and he has no idea what the next yard will yield. He smashes a panel of glass out of the corner window with his elbow. His hand s
nakes into the house to turn the latch. The window slides up.
After a quick peek into the darkness of the dwelling Dan is reasonably certain it’s safe. Nothing grabbed him. To be sure he climbs in first, and then pulls the girl in. He carries the barefoot child over the broken glass to the outline of a couch set in the middle of the room.
Dan closes the window and pulls the curtains together. He creeps back to the sofa trying not to crunch the shards of glass under his feet. He can hear the moans getting closer. He sits next to Barbara on the seat where they remain as still as statues and just as quiet. They listen to the corpses approach. Silhouettes walk across the windows. The dead are in the yard, searching.
Dan’s plan is to remain quiet and perhaps they will pass them by. He diverts his attention from the shadow people to check the points of entry to the room they currently cower in. His eyes have adjusted to the dim, he can see to the right is a dining room. Behind them in the corner he can see stairs leading to the second floor.
They sit and wait as the moans get even louder; more zombies join the search party brewing in the back of the house. The girl next to Dan pulls her knees to her chest and starts to rock back and forth. She is scared and is trying to take her mind off the hungry monsters outside by looking at the things on the wall. She knows what the dark blobs in the shadows are, mounted animal heads forever displayed in proud poses. She looks to the floor and the small rug that covers the hard wood in front of them. It’s very soft and warm beneath her feet. She knows it was once alive. She ponders what it could have been, anything to keep her mind off the menacing figures outside.
The dead linger in the yard, swaying on clumsy re-animated legs. They had heard the dinner bell, but can’t find the main course. The two survivors are seated very close to one another as if contact with another living soul could give them the strength needed to endure the anxiety they felt. Footsteps on the stairs behind them cause both to jump.
Life Among The Dead Page 7
