Redemption of the Dead

by A. P. Fuchs

  The thing was, he knew he’d remain restless until he knew for certain April was deceased in this reality.

  It’d be the only way I might be able to move on, he thought, but knew it was very unlikely. As if you’re going to find her, though.

  The real problem at the moment was Tracy, and he wasn’t sure if he should come clean with her and tell her what was going on inside himself.

  * * * *

  After searching the kitchen herself for something to eat and coming up empty, Tracy paced the living room floor, the can of chickpeas in one hand, a clenched fist in the other.

  You’re stupid if you think you can stay mad at him. You need each other because you both know what it’s like to go it alone in this Hell-on-Earth. “But it’s his fault!” She clamped a hand to her mouth; she hadn’t meant to speak so loudly. There was no stirring upstairs so Joe probably hadn’t heard her.

  She’d just been so relieved he was okay after the fact. He’d been in worse, she knew, but somehow at that moment, it was like his life was in serious jeopardy and the thought of him not making it out alive . . .

  “You can’t do this,” she whispered quietly. “It’s stupid and dumb. It’s one thing to let him in as a partner against the undead, another to even consider going beyond that.” The thing of it was, she knew a part of her was hoping he’d fill the hole in her heart left by Josh. In a world like this, one where loneliness presided, emotional walls were built, death was carried out as easily as breathing—it began to wear on a person. It began to wear on her.

  I’m not going to get all mushy-gushy with him. If anything, I’m lonely, there’s needs, I’m sick of nothing but rot and decay. Don’t use him as your glimmer of sunshine. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to him. “Besides,” she said, “he’s got issues of his own and is too busy having a pity party over another girl.” You’re doing the same thing to yourself so don’t even go there. “Oh, but to go there . . .”

  She looked at the can of chickpeas. Man, how she hated those things. Mushy and gritty, like damp dirt, but they were healthy and if this was all there was for her and Joe, then that was the way it was.

  “Got to get it to him, though, which means I got to get up there.” She grunted. “Why couldn’t he have been the one holding the can?”

  * * * *

  Joe sat with his back to the door, legs drawn up, forearms resting on his knees. His thumbs were getting sore from all the twiddling. He ran a hand over his head. It’d been so long since he last shaved it, the hair was coming in pretty good, thick and bristly. He didn’t want it to grow back. To let it come in like he used to, he’d look like the old Joe—Joseph—the person he’d been before the Rain. To see that in the mirror every day—no, no way.

  He got up from the door. Maybe there’s a razor or scissors or something in one of the medicine cabinets. I need a shave anyway. He yawned and opened the door. Tracy stood a few feet from it, staring at the can of chickpeas. She seemed startled by his sudden emergence.

  The two looked at each other.

  Guess this one might be up to you, he thought. Don’t string her along. Get back to surviving. No time for this other nonsense. “Um . . .” he said and ran his hand over his head, once again hating the hair growing on top.

  Tracy faced him, arms at her sides. She raised her eyebrows, obviously signaling he was the one that had to speak first.

  But if that’s true, what was she doing up here to begin with? He slowly exhaled. “Okay, fine. Look, I’m sorry.” There. That wasn’t so bad.

  “And?”

  And? Okay, maybe it is that bad? “I shouldn’t have left you out of it. It’s hard to explain why. Can you just trust me that I had my reasons, but now realize it was a dumb choice and just move on?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Are you going to do it again?”

  “Are you?”

  “What?”

  “Sorry. What I meant was, yeah, I won’t do it again if it can be helped.”

  Her eyes bore into him. “What do you mean?”

  “What?”

  “If it can be helped?”

  “I mean that if it’s okay for you and I to take on the undead together, then we will.”

  A puzzled look came over her face.

  “Okay, start over. If there’s a situation where we’re separated and we have to fight alone, we’ll fight alone, otherwise we’ll fight together. Cool?”

  She seemed to consider his words and began rolling the can of chickpeas back and forth between her palms. “Okay, deal, but for a guy who’s supposed to be a writer, you suck at words.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Tracy smiled. That sweet smile.

  No, not sweet. Stupid! He reached forward and grabbed the can of chickpeas from her hand. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I hate these just as much as you do.”

  “How did you—”

  Joe didn’t bother to answer and hated himself for having hinted at how similar they were.

  * * * *

  6

  You Can’t Die in Hell

  Head barely above the water, Billie tried to swim using her one good arm and leg. The right side of her body had gone numb from the fall and she wouldn’t be surprised if the trauma from the impact had not only broken the bones on that side, but damaged the nerves so badly that, right now, she couldn’t feel a thing. She hoped the cool water would help some, but more so, she hoped the gray water wouldn’t affect her. It hadn’t a year ago when the gray rain fell, so most likely she was safe, but still, she couldn’t help but worry. Plus she’d lost her glasses when she jumped in.

  They were broken anyway, she thought.

  Billie was a decent ways from the rock she jumped off. Many of the zombies followed her in, but vanished beneath the water’s gray surface and never came up again.

  Thank goodness they can’t swim, she thought. The swimming was slow-going. She went under every time she tried to speed up. She also ended up starting to go in a circle since all the effort was done with one side of her body.

  Every time her leg moved beneath the surface, she felt the trepidation an undead person would grab her foot from below and drag her down to the lake’s floor. Every time she moved her hand, she could almost feel cold, decaying fingers wrap around her own and tug her beneath the surface. The only thought that kept her going was the idea the water was very deep and even if some of the undead were standing at the bottom and reaching for her, there’d be no way they could touch her.

  She had to get someplace safe, that was priority one. Forcing her head above the water, Billie scanned the shoreline. Dead trees and bushes lined it like a stained-glass painting but without the color. The rocks along the edge were huge, their tops so high above water level there was no way she’d be able to climb out.

  There’s a break in the rock line somewhere, though. The undead had crawled out and there’s no way the entire lake is bordered by a wall of rock. There’s got to be another one. Her head went under the water; she furiously kicked her leg and moved her arm, bringing herself up to the surface. The water stank, a mix of turpentine and strong male body odor.

  “So tired,” she said. Even being in the water as she was, lying back only added to her sleepiness; she had to focus on staying awake

  “I need help,” she breathed, and went under again. This time her body went vertical beneath the surface; gravity took over and pulled her down. Thankfully, there was still air in her lungs so she wasn’t completely dead weight. She wiggled her body, kicked her leg and flailed her arm, trying to get the water beneath her and her head above the surface. She was even able to get her other arm and leg moving, though just barely.

  Don’t want to drown. Not like this. She could only imagine how painful it was to choke on lake water, deal with being unable to breathe until she passed out then finally died. And in this water, she thought she had a pretty good chance of coming back from the dead as well.

  God, help me, she thought.

 
Billie kicked and fought against the water, slowly gaining ascent inch by desperate inch. Lungs beginning to hurt, she told herself to clamp down and just keep swimming. Finally, she broke the surface, took a big gulp of air, then quickly went down again. She kicked and squirmed and came up once more. Laying prone immediately, she briefly dipped below the surface before her face was enough above the water she could breathe comfortably.

  Glancing around, she saw she was further out from shore than she originally thought. Desperate to get to dry land, she angled herself so her head was pointed toward the shore and slowly began to swim toward the rock. She’d find a way back onto land. She had to.

  She didn’t know what time it was, but judging by how fatigued she was on top of all her injuries, she guessed it was close to midnight if not past. Yawning, she kept kicking.

  Billie went under again. This time she dipped forward, going vertical before tipping forward completely so she was face down. Panicking, she screamed and let out most of the air in her lungs in the process.

  No, no, no! She instinctively screamed again, deflating her lungs even more. Her eyes went wide at the realization. Okay, calm down. Calm down. Think. Which way is up? She paused, got her bearings, and began to lean back, thinking she’d go vertical again and would be able to kick to the surface. Adrenaline beginning to pump through her limbs—all of them—she scrambled against the water and tried to head to the surface. Despite how hard she swam or how hard she kicked, the surface never came. She stopped, lungs burning for air, and tread under the water. Looking up, she couldn’t make heads or tails which way the surface was in the gray murk. No starlight or moonlight thanks to the ever-present brown and gray-clouded sky.

  Her only guide was gravity, and right now, it was winning.

  Billie’s lungs pounded for air, her heart thumping so hard in her chest it felt like it was going to break free and fall out. Black fuzziness overcame her vision and a low buzzing filled her ears. Detachment began to set in and for a split second she thought she was comfortably at home, about to fall asleep. The weightlessness brought her back to where she really was and she took in a lungful of lake water. She tried to cough, choke it out, but it was useless. All she did was force the last tiny bit of air out of her lungs, making her body breathe in another gulp of water in reaction.

  Immediately, she started crying, understanding what she had done and that she was about to die.

  Sinking, heartbeat slowing, Billie thought she’d soon go into a state of complete relaxation, like she once heard somewhere of drowning being like that: lose air, get sleepy then peacefully pass out before dying. Instead, even with her eyes closed, darkness drew in, black, pure. The sensation of her body disappeared for a moment before returning full swing, each movement, each part of her, utterly sensitive to the water—then there was no water.

  Billie opened her eyes, a sudden gust of wind rushing up her body as she fell into total darkness. Her heart didn’t race. She didn’t feel a pulse, but she did feel her stomach going up into her chest as she fell further and faster into the black abyss. Fear gripped her and every nerve in her chest and gut trembled, sending quakes of terror through her body. The solemn realization she was dead rose within her. She began to shake and kick against the air as if she could somehow fight it and ascend back to the lake, to the world . . . above.

  In a flood of emotion and knowledge she understood what was happening. She glanced up as if to confirm only to see a small halo of brilliant light far in the distance, growing tinier and tinier the further she fell until the light was gone and there was only darkness.

  Screaming, she cried out. “Help! Help me!”

  No one came to her rescue. There was no one here.

  Shaking, she hit the ground, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through her body. Her muscles cramped, her bones felt like the marrow had been replaced with fire. Shrieking, she sat up and the pain suddenly left her.

  Gasping, Billie choked on the dry air around her, like the hot air of a sauna. The stone ground she sat on was uncomfortably warm and the longer she sat on it, the hotter it got until sweat broke out across her body. She went to touch her skin, to see if there was any damage, but there wasn’t any. Her skin was dry, too, no moisture on it despite feeling otherwise. Breathing growing irregular, she got to her feet and was dismayed her right leg and arm were still unusable. They didn’t hurt like before, but she couldn’t get them to move no matter how hard she tried.

  “Hello?” she called into the darkness. “What is this place? Where am I?”

  A haunting presence grew behind her and her body locked as fear took over.

  “You’re in Hell,” the presence said, its voice low, airy and scratchy. “You are in Hell, Billie.”

  Screaming, she tried to run away, at best managing a swift limp, dragging her bad leg as she scrambled to get away along the hot ground. With darkness all around and not knowing which way was what nor what might be around her, she instinctively moved with trepidation, slowing herself even more despite not wanting to. Something was behind her. She didn’t hear anything, but knew for certain the thing that just spoke to her was right at her heels.

  “Come back here!” it shouted, its voice carrying on the darkness like an echo in a cave.

  Was that it? Was she in a cave? Maybe she was alive and—she didn’t know—went through some underwater tunnel only to surface in a cave?

  But she knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a thought or an emotion, but a deep, raw knowledge down in her soul. She was dead and she was in Hell.

  Why Hell? She was a good person. Sure, she made mistakes like everyone else, but she didn’t kill anyone, didn’t rob a bank. The only killing she ever did was swat mosquitoes and shoot zombies with a nail gun.

  “You deserve to be here,” the presence said.

  Its words traveled deep within her, echoed throughout her being. It was true. She did deserve to be here.

  Ahead, a faint orange glow rose in the distance. The closer she got, the more its sound became clear. Despite being at least a half kilometer away, most likely more, she heard the harsh roar of the flames and even began to feel the heat emanating off them, compounding the pronounced heat already on the air around her.

  “Run, Billie, run,” the voice said.

  Her one good leg picked up speed. Strangely, she wasn’t out of breath like she thought she’d be, but yet she was frustrated at not being able to breathe against the searing hot air that had grown in temperature since her arrival.

  “Run.”

  Shrieking, she kept going, not wanting to turn around and not wanting to run into the fire up ahead.

  Scaly creatures began to materialize against the orange glow, their bodies bony silhouettes against the haunting light.

  Billie didn’t need to be up close to know what they were. She first saw them the day they went to the past.

  Demons.

  They were the ones behind the rise of the undead. They were the forces truly at work.

  Panicking, she turned left, trying to avoid both the creature behind and the creatures in front.

  “Help!” she shrieked. “Help me!” The thing behind her kept chasing her; it also seemed to be keeping its distance, maintaining its authority by grunting and growling, causing her to be too afraid to turn around and look. “Is anyone else here?”

  “You are alone, Billie. Alone with us. We will kill you slowly over and over.”

  Overwhelmed by fear, her legs gave out beneath her and she fell to the hot stone ground. She reached out along the stone and tried to pull herself along its surface. It was impossible. Her skin couldn’t rest against the stone for any length of time before burning.

  Quivering and crying, Billie tried to stand, but her feet wouldn’t get under her.

  “I won’t look back, I won’t look back,” she said.

  “Look back, Billie. Look back. LOOK AT ME!”

  She had to listen. The thing would destroy her if she didn’t.

  “Help . .
.” she groaned.

  Her eyes settled on someone in the distance. A man. He looked . . . familiar. The presence that had followed her was still there, but didn’t come upon her. In the distance, back near the flames, the demons were still headed in her direction.

  But that man. He was so . . . he wore a trench coat. His head was shaved.

  “No,” she said. “No. He can’t . . . not . . . JOE!” He’s dead, too? He’s here? “Joe, it’s me, Billie. Can you hear me? I can’t move, Joe. Help!”

  “No one can hear you,” the evil voice said.

  “Shut up!” The words came out before she had time to think them over.

  “Don’t talk to me like that!” the voice said.

  A split second later, she felt like she’d been whipped with a chain. Hot lashes laced across her skin. Wounds burning, she put out a trembling hand to see how bad it was. She was shocked there was no blood, and her skin . . . her skin was dry, brittle. Dead.

  Joe was in the darkness, some of the creatures coming toward him as a hurricane of others flew all around and ascended at rapid speed.

  “Joe!”

  “QUIET!” the voice boomed.

  Another hot lash of chain sliced across her skin. Billie shrieked, cried, screamed for Joe. The hot chain struck her again. She bit her lip against the agony. Why wasn’t he responding? Why couldn’t he see her if she could see him?

  Billie called out to him, told him to look out. He didn’t acknowledge her.

  The creatures pounced on Joe.

  The chain sliced her legs and back. Hot pain rolled up and down her body. The creatures near the fire drew closer.

  A blinding white light up ahead lit up the darkness as it streaked from somewhere high above and cut through the black abyss like lightning through a stormy sky. The light materialized beside Joe, all the while fending off the creatures. The thing’s movements were so quick and precise, the creatures didn’t stand a chance. A moment later, the strange being grabbed Joe and the two streaked upward, the remaining demons following suit.