by R. M. Smith
Hexin screamed, “Whinny! You threw my gun over the side! Go get it!”
“It’s gone now,” Wendy said loudly. “You’re too young for guns anyway.”
“Fuck you, Whinny! Fuck you, Whinny retard!”
She reached out with her hand and pulled Hexin’s hair. “Shut up you little creep!”
“Fuck you Wh…”
She pulled her switchblade out and snapped it open.
Doc stepped in front of her, grabbed her wrist and forced the switchblade out of her hand. It clattered to the floor. He kicked it over the edge. “Calm down, Wendy. You don’t need that knife anymore, either.”
She screamed, “That was Lisa’s!”
“It’s gone now, Whinny!” Hexin yelled snottily. “Like your Daddy.”
Wendy stared at Doc with murder in her eyes. “Get out of my way. I’m going to kill that little bastard!”
“Oh no,” Doc said, struggling with her. “No one else needs to die.” He grabbed her other arm and held it.
She screamed into his face, “Let me go you loser! You can’t stop me! You couldn’t even stop your own fucking wife!”
Doc held her. Wendy thrashed to get loose.
“Wendy stop!” I yelled.
She turned to face me. Her cheeks had turned red. “What do you know, you cousin fucker?”
She yanked her hands out of Doc’s grip.
Doc stepped back, hands up.
She grabbed her pistol off the work bench.
Hexin ran toward her, his hands spread in front of him. He hit her midriff, pushing her back toward the railing. The back of her legs hit causing her to lean back. She pin wheeled her arms for balance dropping her pistol over the edge.
Doc reached for her but missed.
I jumped to grab her too but I was too slow.
Falling backward over the railing she reached for Hexin. She got a handful of his hair and pulled him over the railing with her.
Doc and I watched them fall to their deaths.
“Oh Jesus,” I said under my breath. “Oh for God’s sake.”
Doc rested his hand on the railing and lowered his head. “Shit.”
The beacon slowly turned overhead, light beaming out into the night. Zombies gathered around the base slowly walking, following the beam of light overhead. They entered the lighthouse keeper’s quarters, crossed the walkway on the second floor and began to file up the metal stairs around the inside of the lighthouse.
They wanted the light.
Nothing more.
Doc and I were stuck. We had nowhere to go. I followed him up the ladder onto the beacon landing. He brought the knapsack full of ammo. Windows surrounded the top of the lighthouse. Outside, the beacon made another round.
The zombies got closer. Their feet hammered on the stairs running up. Several stopped to feed on Wendy and Hexin’s bodies.
I had my shotgun. Doc had his crowbar.
The zombies arrived on the generator floor. I shot down at them.
“There’s a ledge out here,” Doc said looking through the large plate glass windows surrounding the beacon. “Around the top here. We can go out onto it if the zombies get too close.”
He pulled out his crowbar and smashed the lighthouse beacon.
We were thrown into complete darkness.
“The hell you do that for?” I yelled.
“Light attracts the zombies. With no light they won’t come up here.”
“What’ll we do now then?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Doc said. “Stop shooting. No more noise. They’ll leave us alone.”
I set the gun down.
They left us alone in the early morning.
By that time we were both freezing. Shaking. Barely able to speak. It took us a long time to climb back down the stairs and go out to Phelps’ Blazer. Our feet, hands and joints had frozen.
It never felt so good when the Blazer finally warmed up.
“Where to now?” Doc asked. “Back to Phelps’?”
“No,” I said. “He’s dead by now. The man wasn’t doing well.”
“Where should we go then?”
Looking out the windows of the Blazer at the frozen world around me I shook my head.
“Where to Jon?” he asked again.
“How much gas we got?” I asked.
“Almost a full tank.”
I looked at him and sighed. “Let’s get out of this shit. Forget the fucking lighthouse crap. Let’s go to fucking California.”
About the Author
As a child and into his early teens, R. M. Smith spent most of his summers vacationing with his family on a lake in Minnesota. Wendy’s Dad’s cabin and the surrounding area is based on those real life places.
He now lives in Kansas with his wife Karen and their spoiled Jack Russel Terrier named Tater-Tot who has some of his own YouTube videos.
Table of Contents
The End of the Fall
Faces in the Frost
Bad Blood
As Cold As The Dead
Jars of Teeth
