I fucked myself.
“We gotta get out of here.” Rhonda looked at a darkened sky. Visions of Chevron rats and yet-unseen dangers filled her head. “Help me up, please.”
“You want your cane back? It’s by the Cujo.” Ellen stepped closer to Rhonda.
Rhonda thought of the super-rotten Cujo, turned into a “yuck” near the station mart. She pictured her bowel-ripping and gore-soaked walking stick.
“Fuck no.” Rhonda grimaced. “I mean, fudge. Awwwww, the hell with it. I don’t ever want that cane back.”
Both kids giggled at this and Rhonda found strength to smile.
They stood on either side of Rhonda and she put her arms out to them. They grabbed her hands and grunted and got her on her feet. She swayed, intoxicated by infection and fatigue.
“Whoa.” Tyler held Rhonda’s forearm and steadied her. “You gonna be okay?”
Rhonda closed her eyes and nodded. Her dizziness ebbed and she breathed deeply. “I’m all good, Ty. I feel better. Just wanna get on the road. Let’s roll.”
Tyler and Ellen eyed Rhonda uncertainly and exchanged doubtful glances. Nonetheless, they grabbed hold of her and steadied her to the driver’s door. Tyler retrieved the .45 and M4 and placed them in the passenger-side footwell.
Rhonda looked at Brad. He remained buckled in his seat, patient as an old bloodhound. He gave Rhonda all his attention and stared into her face, unblinking.
Tyler and Ellen helped Rhonda into her driver’s seat and agony bombarded her leg. She stifled a moan. Both kids got themselves into their front seat and buckled in.
Tyler turned to Rhonda. “Aren’t you gonna wear your seatbelt?”
Rhonda closed her eyes and began to shake. Christ, she’d never hurt so badly. Never felt so weak and sick. She hung her head while hot sweat broke out across her upper torso. She opened her eyes and stared at the center of her steering wheel. “Yes I am. You... you and Ellen keep yours on.”
“She’s looking really, really green and white again.” Ellen sang girlishly.
“Yeah. I’m not feeling so great.” Rhonda turned to both kids. “Ty, you got a soda or anything with caffeine in those grocery bags?”
Tyler rifled through plastic bags on the floor next to the firearms. He pulled out a can of Red Bull and held it out to her. “Will this work?”
Rhonda nodded and grabbed the can. “Thanks.”
The Red Bull hurt her raw throat. She hoped it would kickstart her body and keep her alert.
“Do we have far to go?” Ellen looked at Rhonda.
Rhonda finished her Red Bull and belched. Tired and sore, she didn’t care to excuse herself. “Well, we’ve still got a lot of driving ahead if we’re gonna make it to the Gulf coast.”
Where was a hospital when she needed it? Where would she get gas now? Time ticked on while her health and gas burned away. The Chevron station, what a fucking waste of time. She could’ve gotten them all killed. That was old news now. They were almost to Florida. Rhonda prepared to drive.
This journey had turned out to be one fucked-up trip. No Chevy Chase vacation here. Just a hell-ride through zombieland with her Cujo-fied hubby-to-be and new kids. She crushed the empty Red Bull can and tossed it out her windowless door into the Chevron lot.
“Hey, that’s littering.” Tyler frowned disapproval. “No pooping in the nest.”
“Yeah!” Ellen shook her head.
The kids were right. What of Rhonda’s determination to hold on to the manners of their old lives? “We shouldn’t litter. Sorry ’bout that. Won’t do it again. ’Kay?”
Ellen smiled. “Okay. Good.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Tyler gazed out his window. “The rats are moving.”
Rhonda looked past Tyler and beyond motionless Cujos spread about Chevron pavement. She watched Necro-Rabid vermin pour out from the station doorway. Sunlight dropped and rats moved fast throughout the dark lot. They sniffed and nibbled at deactivated Cujos. They scurried toward the Humvee and Rhonda shifted and drove away.
“Just sayin’... I hate rats.” Tyler folded his arms with an air of disgust and stared westward. “Rats are why everyone’s a zombie.”
“Why do Cujos eat people?”
Rhonda swallowed warm spit. “I’m not sure, Ellen. They’re cannibalistic, but not with their own, undead kind. Maybe ’cause we’re warm and fresh, they want us. They’d eat other large and healthy mammals if they could get their hands on ’em.”
Ellen’s question was one Rhonda asked Doc Brightmore before. Doc said Cujos ate healthy human flesh, but never attacked and ate their own “walking” kind. How they knew the difference between regular, living people and the newly undead, she didn’t know. Perhaps they possessed a zombie sense of smell or a special visual ability? Who cares? Myriad reasons why rot-walkers worked, remained, as always, unanswerable.
“I heard zombies don’t poop.” Ellen offered her bit of hearsay while she inspected her sash. “If they don’t poop, where does all the stuff they eat go?”
Rhonda choked on this nauseating idea. She thought of the giant Chevron station Cujo... that horrific specimen of decay with its pendulous sack of vile entrails. Those same putrefied bowels stuffed with decomposing human meat.
At 45 miles per hour, and crossing the state line into Florida, Rhonda leaned out just in time to disgorge small amounts of Red Bull and whatever snacks remained in her sensitive tummy. Her Humvee veered for a second before she straightened it out. Again she gagged and hurled red and green vomit out her window.
“Ewwww, gross.” Ellen scrunched her face again and pinched her nose.
“Pull over, please?” Tyler looked concerned. “You probably shouldn’t drive like this.”
Rhonda blinked her watery eyes. She coughed and cleared her throat. “I’m gonna be fine, Ty. The sign ahead says Jacksonville is coming up in 20 miles. I’ve never been there, but it’s gotta be big enough to have everything we need. Can’t waste any more time.”
Tyler didn’t say anything, just stared at Rhonda silently. The kids seemed to be waiting for Rhonda to say something... or maybe puke again.
Rhonda coughed and hacked and glanced between their faces and the road. “I’m fine. Just talk about things that won’t make me hurl, ’kay? Can I get some water?”
Tyler turned away and reached into one of his grocery bags. He pulled out a bottle of Poland Spring and gave it to Rhonda.
Rhonda drank and washed bile from her raw throat. She set the bottle between her legs. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem.” Tyler half-smiled. “Want me to put some music on or somethin’?”
“Not right now, Ty. I need to focus on the road and have you guys keep me alert.”
“Okay.”
Rhonda turned on the high-beams and spit a nasty-tasting wad of phlegm out her window. “Just need a decent hospital with supplies and I can get fixed up. And get you some real food.”
“Real food would be nice.” Ellen sounded excited.
“And maybe we’ll even get showered and get new clothes. I could do your hair, Ellie.” Rhonda glanced down and saw the gas gauge needle on empty. “Guys, we really need to find gas.”
“I’m sure Jacksonville will have gas.” Tyler gripped Rhonda’s forearm gently, smiled, and let go. “Even if we gotta go from house to house and take gas cans from garages.”
“Oh, is that how you’d do it?” Rhonda smiled.
“Sure. My dad told me to always use my brain whenever I’m in a jam.”
“Daddy also said we had to stay away from big cities because they’re filled with lotsa Cujos ’cause lotsa people lived there,” Ellen interrupted with a worrisome expression. “We’re going to a big city, right?”
Rhonda flicked her eyes to them. Damn, they might be smarter than her at this point. If she’d taken the time to scour towns she passed for a CVS or a Walgreens, she might be in better shape already. But she just had to insist on rolling, didn’t she? She should’ve taken her chances many
miles ago, but now she was rolling the dice in a large city with a lot of area to cover, and she didn’t even know where to start looking for anything.
“Easy, guys. We’ve all made it this far through other Cujos and worse. If there’s Cujos in Jacksonville, we’ll deal with ’em... deal with ’em all with extreme prejudice.”
“What’s that mean?” Ellen looked puzzled.
“Prejudice isn’t good.” Tyler piped in. “It means you hate someone of a different color or religion. Least that’s what Mrs. Bernd taught us last year.”
“You’re right, Ty. But that’s not what I mean.” Rhonda thought she smelled her bad leg again and it wasn’t pleasant. “I’m basically saying that we’re not gonna tolerate any Cujos givin’ us a hard time. We’ll take ’em out with a cane if we have to. Right, Ellen?”
Ellen giggled and Tyler snickered and nudged her.
“‘Sides, maybe by now all the Cujos have skated outta town and Jacksonville won’t have any Cujos left to worry about.”
Tyler and Ellen both gave her identical, skeptical stares from their shared seat.
No. She couldn’t bullshit these kids. She knew she couldn’t bullshit herself. They were all in jeopardy and she couldn’t go back to make up for it no matter how hard she wished. She was already imagining armies of Cujos in Jacksonville. And she didn’t just need medical supplies from a drug store; she was way beyond that, she needed an actual doctor now. And in her estimation, the only doctor existing on the planet was Doc Brightmore, and he was states away in lifetime long gone.
Rhonda stewed in her own hell. Jacksonville neared.
Chapter Twenty-Three
An official welcome sign for Jacksonville, Florida came into view. Population 1.3 million. This figure made Rhonda’s stomach roll. How many of them were now Cujos?
She choked back bile. There was nothing left to fucking puke up. She steadied herself.
“I saw a sign for Downtown and stuff.” Tyler looked out his window and stared at a dark river underneath their wheels.
Rhonda found it hard to multitask. She processed Ty’s words as she weaved in and out of abandoned and smashed cars and human roadkill. Before her, the evening road blurred and darkened.
“I’m... “ Rhonda croaked her words. “Just skirting the city... looking for a hospital. Gonna get off here and find something.”
They exited the bridge and rolled on solid ground. The Humvee shuddered and Rhonda’s weary eyes found the gas gauge needle buried in red. She’d run the tank dry.
“What’s wrong with the car, Rhonda?” Ellen looked worried as they all jostled with each Humvee hiccup.
“We’re running out of gas, Ellie.” Tyler straightened in his seat.
It took so much strength to say anything. “Sit back guys. Just sit back... I’ll get us as far as possible.”
Ellen pulled her feet and legs up on her seat, put her face into her knees and whimpered.
“What’s that?” Tyler pointed out to their left. Huge banks of bright lights lit the evening dark about a quarter mile ahead.
Rhonda saw it at the same time he did, surprised to see all these intense and close lights. She felt delirious.
“It’s a stadium.” Rhonda’s raspy voice tumbled from her.
“A stadium? Wow. I’ve only seen them on TV.” Tyler leaned closer toward the smashed windshield.
Rhonda gave a drunken nod.
Tyler beamed with excitement. “If there’s lights on over there, then maybe regular people are over there and we can get help and we won’t be alone.”
“Ty, I’m not sure that’s... “
Rhonda’s words dribbled into nothing. Those lights didn’t necessarily mean any normal people were there. Bright lights could also mean swarms of Cujos drawn like rabid moths. But her stamina plummeted and Rhonda didn’t have the energy to find the words.
“We gotta get over there.” Tyler’s voice grew louder and more urgent.
Again and again the Humvee jerked its occupants back and forth in their seats as the last drops of gas were sucked up.
“Rrrr-rrr-rrrckkk,” Brad stammered from the backseat.
“Please, Rhonda.” Ellen uncurled herself and sat straight. “Let’s get over there. We need people.”
Rhonda didn’t want to argue. They were trapped like sitting ducks in their dead Humvee. No choice now but to get out and make for new ground. Where was fresh gas? Shit, where was a reliable vehicle with a full tank? No wheels, no hospital nearby. She knew she couldn’t move anywhere far on foot in this condition.
Rhonda steered the dry Humvee closer to the lighted stadium. Time to admit her luck ran out. She clutched one final hope that the stadium would provide help... would have unzombified, normal people waiting for them.
Please tell me I did something right.
“Hang on.” Rhonda wheezed and cranked the wheel. She punched the gas, hoping the last ounce of fuel would propel her Humvee closer to the stadium.
Both kids and Brad rocked in their seats as Rhonda dodged dead vehicles with feverish coordination. They sped faster, a miracle of some sort, she thought, and crossed a huge parking lot filled with palm trees and row after row of parked cars. Her heavy eyes rolled and refocused as she pushed on toward the stadium.
“EverBank Field.” Rhonda knew this place from watching football games with Brad in the old days. “Home of the Jacksonville Jaguars.”
“This place is gi-normous.” Tyler looked upon it with wide eyes.
“I don’t like sports,” Ellen offered, but she appeared to be as fascinated as her brother with the stadium before her.
Exhausted and dizzy with pain, Rhonda put her foot to the floor... but the Humvee wouldn’t move. The engine growled once before her Humvee died. Rhonda shifted into neutral and coasted into a crowd control barrier. They stopped several yards in front of a tall, three-story column filled with escalators, adorned from top to bottom with tattered banners for Pepsi and the Jaguars.
“Let’s go.” Rhonda spoke with her voice strained. As she opened the door and shifted in her seat, she accidentally beeped the car horn.
“Rhonda, maybe we should be a little quieter in case there are Cujos here.” Tyler looked around nervously.
Ellen nodded in agreement.
“I’m... sorry. Shit!” Why would she make noise like that? She’d definitely lost it. She knew better than anyone that you never, ever make unnecessary noise in Cujoland.
Rhonda got out and frowned at the stadium. She turned and looked at Brad. He gazed out the window, his face illuminated by the stadium glow.
Is EverBank Field Cujo-free?
Brad moaned in distress and strained in his seat. Rhonda and the kids looked in the direction of Brad’s agitated gaze and watched numerous Cujos appearing in the parking lot and from around the building.
Mistake.
Fuck me.
“You should’nt’ve beeped the horn.” Tyler shook his head. “We gotta split.”
Ellen released an unhappy squeal.
Rhonda knew she should be terrified. There was no way she could outrun hungry Cujos on foot. She just wanted to sleep. She felt done and over it.
Put a fucking fork in me.
“C’mon already! We gotta go.” Tyler unbuckled himself and Ellen from their shared seatbelt and grabbed Rhonda’s .45 and M4. He pushed the carbine at Rhonda. “Here. Let’s get!”
Rhonda looked at her M4 dreamily and reached for it in slow motion. Lightheadedness swept through her. Who stole her body? Some bastard had tricked her. Stuck her in this useless shell. She groaned again and checked the chamber. Empty. Grunting, she ejected the spent mag. With a mixture of hazy feebleness and sharp discomfort, she pulled another loaded magazine out of her belt and locked it home. She pulled the slide backward and a fresh bullet filled the chamber.
“Ty, jump in the backseat and unbuckle Brad. Then get back here and grab the .45 and your sister.” Rhonda looked at a column of escalators in front of them. “Make a run for those es
calators and take ’em to the top. I’ll cover you. Meet you up there.”
“But what if he tries biting me?” Tyler frowned at Brad. He turned to Rhonda and blinked. “And you don’t look good enough to move. We had to help you walk before.”
“Just get him unbuckled. He won’t bite. I promise.”
“Hurry, Ty!” Ellen’s face transformed into an expression of terror.
“All right, all right.” Tyler jumped into the backseat, and within seconds, he climbed to the front. “He’s loose. Didn’t even look at me.”
“Good, Ty. Take the .45 and Ellen. Go! Shoot anything you have to.”
Tyler nodded and grabbed Rhonda’s .45 automatic. The siblings exited the vehicle and ran toward the escalators. Through her overstrained eyes, she watched Tyler stop twice to shoot a couple of quick Cujos who charged him and Ellen. Ellen screamed and covered her ears while Ty wielded the large handgun like a pro. He took his time.
Like shooting beer bottles, Ty.
Rhonda huffed and readied herself to move. She screeched in agony as pain shot through her leg. Her wound opened wider and a surge of hot liquid poured from the gash, soaking her entire leg. With some type of superhuman determination, she moved herself past the Humvee and stood on her good leg. No time to faint or vomit now, not while a pair of fat and shirtless male Cujos trudged toward her. They lurched with outstretched arms, their wide, rotten mouths hanging open in a hiss. Were they painted? Their upper torsos appeared smeared and streaked in washed-out colors. Perhaps from some long-forgotten game-day body paint job. Behind them, more Cujos were approaching, some faster than others.
“Football season’s cancelled this year.” Rhonda’s sepulchral voice preceded a peal of explosive gunfire from her M4.
Rhonda tottered on her left leg and pointed her weapon with her deadened right arm. A bratta-brap-brap-brap of her M4 echoed through the parking lot. She hit a few in the head, but the gun-bunny that Dad and Sarge once applauded was off her game. She watched with an indifferent eye as bullets blew into the painted chests and ample bellies of the Cujos nearest to her, while other rounds entered doors and quarter-panels of nearby cars.
Rabid Heart Page 16
