by Weston Ochse
After that all was quiet, except the sound of wind and rain from TS Hiawatha.
Metzger didn't pause to see who had survived, turning to push the others forward. He was back in Iraq, bad guys lurking around every corner and a squad he'd get home if it killed him. He took the lead and ordered the others to stay close.
No one said a word.
The look in his eyes was grim determination.
Fucking gook zombie bastard had got him. He felt the monster badness course through him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd end up like the monster he'd trapped in the trailer - the one that got him. And the worst part about it was that he couldn't work the damn shotgun well enough to blow his own fool head off.
A bottle of 10 year old scotch sat on the table beside his useless 12 gauge, and a glass of the warm brown liquor rested in the hooks of his left hand. He lifted the glass, let the scotch scorch his throat, and in a fit of anger, crushed the glass with the hooks.
He could do almost anything with these damned things except kill himself. He couldn't slit his wrists because he didn't have any to slit. He didn't have any pills around that were useful for that sort of thing, and even if he did, he doubted that he'd decide to end things that way. Somehow, after surviving the way he had and fighting all of these years it seemed like a coward's way out.
No, he wanted to blow his head off, only he couldn't manage to point the weapon at his head and pull the trigger at the same time. A mad, angry part of Gerald believed that it had been a special intention of the prosthetics' makers to create hooks incapable of holding a gun properly for suicide. For a brief scotch-fueled second he entertained killing every hook maker on the planet, if only he could get them in the same room.
He returned to his fugue.
So what was he going to do?
Anger flooded him.
Fucking gook bastards!
His right arm shot across the table, clearing everything from it, smashing the bottle on the floor and spraying what was left of the scotch on the cupboards. Shards of glass ricocheted all the way into the living room.
He remembered the mad hunger in the zombie's eyes as he'd stood before it. Gerald climbed to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. He'd left the light on. Staring at himself in the mirror, he could see the whites around his blue eyes dissolving and yellow creeping in.
To think that he'd escaped countless of the yellow bastards in Korea only to have them now infiltrate from within. He roared into the mirror. Liking the sound of it, he roared again.
What had they called it, The Yellow Peril?
"I got your yellow peril!" he screamed.
Then he paused.
Was he thinking clearly? Were his thoughts right or was he drunk or yellow or monstrous? Then he thought of that girl... what was her name? Her father had gone missing and he'd offered to help her. He giggled. Maybe after he was a zombie, he could go undercover and infiltrate the zombie stronghold.
But then he roared again and the roaring made him feel good.
He glared into the mirror and beheld his yellow eyes. His skin had turned shades of green and he hated green. He hated green almost as much as he hated yellow.
Roar!
He lurched into the hallway.
He felt the last vestiges of his humanity being consumed by something dark and beautiful. He didn't want to be a zombie but he knew he couldn't stop it. He raked the wall with one of his hooks, the metal slicing through the wood like it was butter.
Roar!
Roar!
The hunger ruled him and took him outside in search of something to feed upon.
The rain had redoubled and now pummeled the town as if to see the place scoured clean. But Bombay Beach couldn't be purged. The town was a great, gargantuan beast brought down before its prime, whose salt-encrusted skeleton had been grown-upon; the houses barnacles, the roads algae, the people mites. And the garbage strewn everywhere was a cancer, sending deep roots into the land. The town was a cosmic road kill, laid low in the desert of a backwater planet by the vicissitudes of a star-crossed providence and a roomful of government hacks, eager to cut corners and touch Heaven the easy way.
Metzger, Veronica and Natasha tore down the street. Derrick pulled Auntie Lin behind him, tottering as quickly as she could on her small legs. When she slipped or slid on the wet road, he held her up and kept her from falling. Everyone knew that they had to keep moving. The wind whipped away their tears as all eyes were upon the neon sign of the Space Station, the closest place that would provide any modicum of safety.
They passed the Laundromat first. Its windows were lit like bug lights in the night. Two of Carrie's children had their noses pressed wetly against the glass, watching Metzger and the others rush past. Back in the recesses, Carrie stood behind a double row of top-load washers, her arms crossed, frowning at the glass and the storm raging outside.
When they reached the restaurant, Metzger braced against the door and checked behind them as one by one the others filed inside. When they were all in, he took a good long look through the rain and, seeing nothing, backed into the restaurant.
"There you are." Maude was putting food in coolers- sandwiches, hotdogs, cheese and the like. "I'd thought I'd make everyone something before I left."
Derrick stood looking around. If there was ever a moment when he needed his mother, this was one of them. He looked lost, and Maude rushed around the counter and gathered him into her arms. He clutched her tightly.
Maude glanced at the others. "What happened?"
"Hopkins and his goons," Metzger said. "Todrunner tried to save us, but we were ambushed."
"What?" Maude shook her head. "Is this true?"
They all nodded.
"What happened to Will?" Maude asked. She looked to Natasha for an answer.
"He's dead. And so are the others. Elvis, the Duvalls, Frank, Columbus, Jimbo and Reginald."
"All of them?" Maude's hand flew to her mouth. "Are you kidding me?"
Natasha shook her head and cast her eyes to the floor.
Auntie Lin walked up to Derrick, drew him to a table and sat down with him. She put her arms around his shoulders as he lay his head in the cradle of his arms.
"Hopkins snapped," Metzger began. "He had his men take everyone out. The last thing I saw was him blowing the deputy's brains out."
"How did you get away?"
"Metzger took over and saved us," Natasha said. "We came straight here."
"They weren't following you, were they?" Maude ran to the front window and peered out.
"There's no one left to follow us. Hopkins was badly wounded. I think most of his men were dead."
Maude ran back to the counter. "We've got to get out of here."
"How?" Metzger said.
"By boat. Lu Shu has it arranged. He used to be a maintenance worker in the plant when we were running full steam ahead. He always has a boat ready in case we need to escape.
"Lu shu?" Auntie Lin asked.
Maude nodded.
Natasha remembered her Auntie and the small Chinese man rattling off Chinese the other day. She'd asked her what they'd talked about, and Auntie Lin had said something about Lu Shu being from one of the Western Provinces of China. Although she said it with a sneer, there was no denying the twinkle in the woman's eyes at being able to talk to someone from her homeland.
"But the water's dangerous. The zombies come from the water," Veronica said, glancing at the others for agreement.
Maude shook her head. "They can't swim. Whatever else they can do, the zombies cannot swim. Get in a boat and you'll be safe."
"Why not just find a car?" Auntie Lin asked.
"Whoever is left will be expecting that. The plan has always been that if they ever lost control, the orders were to keep anyone from leaving at any cost. They'll be watching the roads the most closely."
The door slammed open so hard the glass cracked from the bottom to the top. Wind and rain roared from the rectangular mouth into
the restaurant. Metzger scrambled towards the door, slipping and sliding along the floor. He almost had it closed when Hopkins entered the doorway. The wounded man punched Metzger in the gut, then kneed him in his face. Metzger went down, but not before the older man stripped him of his weapon and tossed it aside.
Hopkins's left leg was wrapped with cloth, already soaked red with blood. He yanked the door shut, shoving a barely conscious Metzger out of the way with his foot.
"You are a fucking pain in my ass."
Auntie Lin and Derrick remained at the table. Natasha, Veronica and Maude backed against the counter, knocking over a cooler, which clattered to the floor behind them. They ignored it, their eyes on Hopkins.
He smiled cruelly, his eyes twisted by pain and frustration.
Maude, on the other hand, stood tall and mean, with the look of a woman who had taken enough shit. Chin high, chest out, arms crossed.
Hopkins trained his rifle on her midsection. "Maude," he warned, "You better stand down. You don't want a piece of me or what I'm bringing. You want to get out of here, if you can. As far as I'm concerned, your job is over."
Natasha stole a glance at Metzger, but he was still down and didn't look like he was going anywhere. His lips were bleeding where Hopkins' knee had caught him.
"You are a fucker, Samuel. A royal fucker."
Hopkins laughed and nodded. "Tell me something new, why don't you?"
"He said go, Maude." Veronica said. "Get out of here. Save yourself."
Natasha looked startled at the idea.
Seeing this, Veronica added, "Seriously, Natasha. Maude needs to leave. Someone needs to know what happened here."
"He's not going to let us go." Derrick said, trying not to cry.
"Of course you are," Auntie Lin said as if it was a perfectly obvious thing. "You're going to let us go, aren't you, Mr. Hopkins?"
Natasha stared at her Auntie in disbelief. Was the woman trying to change his mind with the singular power of her will, or was this just insane hope?
Natasha caught Hopkins examining Auntie Lin with much the same expression. Then he shook his head and readdressed Maude. "You've only a short window in which to leave. You need to follow the little criminal's advice and get out while you have the chance and I'm in a good mood."
Maude shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere." She stepped over to Natasha and put her arm around her. "Where would I go, anyway? I've been here most of my life. What friends I have are here."
"Some friends. I left them bleeding in the street a couple of blocks back." Hopkins rubbed his leg with his left hand, holding the rifle with the other. He didn't seem to have the strength to hold it level, so it pointed towards the floor. "You kids have been a pain in the ass, you know?"
Natasha pursed her lips. "You've got more problems than us, Mister. Looks to us like you're losing control. Why are all your zombies escaping?"
Hopkins smiled grimly. "Power surges. Earthquakes. Sunspots. What does it matter to you?"
"So the green flashes are the surges?" Derrick asked. When Hopkins nodded, Derrick looked excitedly from Veronica to Natasha. "Grandpa was right. So was the Mad Scientist."
"Is Andy still making trouble? I suppose I'll have to talk to him next." Hopkins shook his head. "What's this about your grandfather?"
"He had a -"
"Derrick!" Veronica shouted.
"What did he have? What did he leave behind? A video? A book?" Hopkins turned to Maude, making a clucking noise with his tongue. "Shame on you. How did you let him write things down about this?"
"It was in code, asshole. How was I supposed to know what he was doing?"
"So you knew about the book, too?" Natasha looked stunned.
Maude smiled grimly. "I knew about everything, honey."
"It was a book," Hopkins said. "Where is it now?"
Veronica grinned. "We mailed it to the FBI with a note telling them to open it if we don't show up on their doorstep within three days."
Hopkins stared at her for a long moment. He aimed the rifle at her belly. "You kids watch way too much television."
"I'm serious."
"I bet you are. Just tell me one thing. I shut off the mail two days ago, so when in between then and now did you manage to get a package out when there was nothing coming in or going out?"
Veronica shook her head and bit her lip. She stared diamond-edged anger at the man, but kept her mouth shut. Finally, "You can't just shut off the mail."
"What? Like I can't just shoot you? Like I didn't kill the deputy?"
"Yeah." Veronica's voice was almost a whisper. "Like that."
"Then why not just kill us all?" Natasha asked. "Who's gonna care about the book then?"
"Call it a loose end. I hate loose ends. So tell me, boy, where is that goddamned book?" Hopkins started to step forward, then stopped when he heard the sound of a vehicle screeching to a stop outside. He stepped back and peered out the door. When he looked back he was smiling like a child. "This is going to surprise the hell out of you. You're going to love this."
Natasha saw that Metzger was coming to, but was being careful about it. He opened his eyes to briefly look around, then snapped them shut.
Hopkins stepped aside to let in two black-clad soldiers and the two zombies they led along behind them. The zombies wore bags over their heads. Iron shackles bound their feet and hands.
"I think it's time we play a little game," Hopkins said happily.
"Oh my God!" Natasha pressed herself against the counter as the creatures approached.
"No, you did not," Maude protested. "You aren't supposed to make them that way."
"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things."
Veronica inched away from Natasha and Maude.
"I see you recognize what these are," Hopkins said. "You'll find them hot and fresh out of the oven, so to speak. They haven't had the luxury of testing beneath the water yet. Of course, that also means that their skin is still intact." He look around at everyone in the room, then nodded towards the black-clad soldier. "The water's a good place to hide them from prying eyes, but it does horrible things to flesh, especially dead flesh."
The soldiers reached for the bags on the zombies' heads and removed them, revealing their identities.
"Daddy!" Natasha screamed. Tears ran down her face as she looked at the man who'd put her to bed and told her nighttime stories about fairies and elves and the boogeyman. Now he was the boogeyman.
For Patrick Oliver retained only a passing resemblance to the man he'd once been. He still had his father's nose; the curve of his jaw was shadowed in his son; even the eyes were the same shape as they'd been before, worry lines etched into his features. But the unholy yellow light that burned within them told of an entirely different being from the man who'd been father to Natasha and Derrick. The shriveled lips barely concealed gums that had receded so far that his teeth looked like fangs, and when he opened his mouth the sound that came from his throat was like the rustling of pages in a book.
"I believe you've met? Patrick, your daughter. Natasha, your father. Why don't you two shake hands?"
Natasha could almost feel her heart stop beating as she saw what her father had become. He wasn't holed up in one of the trailers, or out finding himself. He was lost to her forever, transformed into a zombie. Not only was Hopkins physically vicious, but fucking cruel with it.
"Well, without any more formalities, I think it's time for dinner. Thurman?"
The soldier nearest him let the chains restraining the zombies fall to the ground.
Suddenly Maude jerked a long-barreled pistol from behind the counter, like something out of a Wild West movie. For all the fear she'd shown when first confronted by the zombies, now she held it straight and true, with not even a quiver. "Get the hell out of here, Hopkins, and take your monkeys with you."
"Don't you think that's too late?"
"It's never too -"
The second zombie suddenly lurched towards Maude. She fired, her bullet
hitting the creature dead center in its forehead. It stopped and rocked in place. The yellow of its eyes dimmed slightly, a look of surprise crossing its face. She fired again, this time catching it in the side of the head. The contents of its skull splattered against the black-clad soldier beside Hopkins and the zombie fell to its knees.
Then a third gunshot.
But this time it was Maude who went to her knees. Her arm remained stretched out. Her face slapped against the linoleum tile. Her sightless eyes remained open as blood drained from a hole in her temple.
Natasha recovered just in time to see her dad lunging towards her, his arms outstretched to embrace her in a way a daddy should never embrace his child. She leaped out of the way at the last moment as she screamed.
Thurman stepped back and pulled his pistol, but fell backwards with a clatter. Metzger had crept to the side and had managed to pull a fire extinguisher from the wall, and now swung it full strength at the soldier's knee cap. When the soldier hit the ground, Metzger brought the fire extinguisher down on his face twice.
On the other side of the room, Natasha dodged her father again.
Hopkins screamed for everyone to stop moving and only then noticed that Veronica had picked up Maude's gun and was training it on him. She fired, and the round struck the front door, shattering the glass. Hopkins ducked and brought his rifle to bear, but ducked again as Veronica fired once more. This time she missed as well, splintering the wood by the doorjamb. Hopkins dove out the door and was lost from sight. The second soldier followed, leaving them to the mercy of the monster.
That was all Metzger needed. He climbed to his feet, grabbing the pistol from Thurman's unmoving body and his rifle from where Hopkins had dropped it on the floor. He rushed to where Natasha was still trying to hold her father at bay, snatched a chair, and slammed it across the zombie's skull. It went down, but only for a moment.
"Come on. Before it gets up." He grabbed Natasha's hand and jerked her towards the back of the restaurant. Veronica followed, shoving Derrick and Auntie Lin in front of her. Soon they were out the door and into the night. The rain continued unabated, as did the wind.
