The Final Day: Complete Edition

by Salzman, Shawn

  "I don't care. Do as I say. Kari, I want you right back there in that seat, under the blanket with them. Don't get up. Don't peek out, even if you hear someone outside - especially if you hear someone outside. I will tell you when I am back. I mean it. If you don't hear my voice, don't move an inch. Got it?"

  A group of nods.

  "Good."

  It's a lot darker out than I thought it would be and it scares the shit out of me. I can still make out the outline of cars that I am going to check first, but there are shadows everywhere and in any one of those shadows there could be a set of teeth ready to pierce flesh.

  I fumble around under the seat, reaching for the one means of protection available to me, other than my fists. Finally! My fingers brush over leather and I eagerly wrap them around a holster that holds my baby, a Glock forty cal with a laser sight. Now the odds should be a bit more in my favor, at least to have something solid to slam down on their heads. There's no way in hell I am going to take a shot unless I have absolutely no other choice.

  "Alright, everybody in the back seat. I will be back in a little bit."

  Kari climbs over the console into the back seat and settles in by Steven and Lexi. They disappear beneath the blanket and sink down into their seats to the point where I can barely even tell they're there.

  "Okay, here goes. Be back in a little bit," I whisper.

  I grab the door handle and give a gentle tug. The latch pops and with it, the damned interior lights come on like a lighthouse beacon cutting through the darkness. I fumble around for the lock and quickly push the door closed. The locks click but the interior lights take forever to shut off. Finally, the lights dim and I turn around to begin my journey.

  The lights just had to come on inside the goddamn Expedition! Everything is black. My eyes are screwed up now and I can't see a damn thing. I can sure hear well, though. Well enough to hear the grass rustling in the field to my right.

  The moan comes next. Instantly, I know it is one of them - a walker - and it is heading this way. I pull out my Glock and raise it up above my head, ready to smash its skull in the second it tries to take another bite of me.

  I see it now. The silhouette grows as it comes closer. Blackened shadows slowly part, giving way to features, gruesome yet comforting all at the same time.

  This one's in horrible shape. I don't need daylight to see that. Its left arm is dangling, hanging lifeless from the rest of its body by a couple threads of tendons. It reminds me of a purse dangling from an old lady's shoulder.

  Its face is grotesque. A blackened cavity resides on the right side of its skull that used to bear residence to an eye. The remaining eye tinged with a hungry, ravenous stare. No love, no sense of human compassion remains. All that's left is primitive hunger. The upper lip is curled back in a snarl, twisted and sinister, everlasting and unable to ever convey another emotion.

  I tighten my fingers around the Glock and tense. The walker is only a hair outside reach. I can't believe how tall this one is... and big! This guy must have been a football player or something. I'd wager it goes at least three twenty-five, maybe more. I grip the pistol tighter, to the point my fingers start to ache. It doesn't seem like it even knows I am here, though. It has to be able to smell me by now. God knows I got a nose full of its rotting ass the moment I heard it rustling around.

  The big bastard stops right in front of me. Every single hair on my body feels like it has just stood up on end. As much as I want to pulverize it and run, I hesitate. It is staring at me, but it doesn't seem interested. It’s one eye looks from me to the Expedition, over and over again, almost like it is waiting for me to make a move. But, why is it not attacking me? Now that I've been bitten, can it no longer differentiate between me and one of its brethren?

  A huge hand the size of my head rises up from its side and shoves me aside, bouncing me into the hood of the Expedition. I look back and see the behemoth. He lumbers right past me without so much as another look. It thinks I'm one of them and evidently, it thinks I am not worthy of any attention either. Its attention is on another place as it rounds the hood and heads for the driver's door.

  My heart starts pounding in my chest to the point where I can feel the reverberations in my ears. The walker stoops and peers through the window. A second later, he lays his big mitt on the car and rocks it hard, then looks back through the window, waiting for movement. It knows something is in there. It has to. A quiet moan escapes its mouth. Then it snarls.

  It shakes the car more violently than before, snarling and clawing at the door.

  It saw one of them move, Michael! Do something, now!

  I look down at my Glock and back at the walker. I can't shoot it and risk attracting more of them, so I do the only thing I know. I leap onto the hood and whip my body around as I thrust my legs forward to dropkick that fucker right in the mouth. My feet hit him hard, one in the side of the face and the other right through the dangling tendons holding its left arm on, effectively separating the useless appendage from the rest of his body. It staggers back a few feet but doesn't fall; definitely not what I hoped would happen.

  The walker bears down and growls at me - a ghastly, horrific sound that I don't even think human lungs and vocal chords are even capable of making. It sounds like the shrill, horrific scream of a banshee mixed with a rumbling, basso demonic growl. The snarl on its face is fiercer than ever as it takes its first step toward me. I instinctively back away. Every step I take, it matches. The faster I back away, the faster it pursues. Then it does one thing I would never expect in a million years - it charges.

  "Shit!"

  I turn tail and run for my destination, hoping it's following me but praying doesn't catch me. Sure enough, a quick glance over my shoulder affirms both. That's just the answer I need. Now, I can concentrate on what's ahead.

  Or maybe not, Michael.

  The night air erupts with hundreds of those same screams just as soon as I reach the grassy median. I can't tell where it is coming from, except that I know it isn't coming from in front of me - At least I can still move forward. My heart skips a beat, then just sinks. That fucker back there is a scout! That only means one thing: they work together like an army, just like how they did at the park when that suit became their hot lunch. That means these bastards can think. No wonder the walker didn't want anything to do with me back there. But, why the hell are they after me?

  Because you're a traitor, Michael. Who cares? At least they're not after Kari and the kids.

  "Fuck you!" Now I know where all of my bad comes from. I have a conscience that is an asshole. Great!

  I remember the feeling I got listening to a pack of wolves howl in the middle of the night - how eerie it was. This is worse. Way worse. I can feel the goose bumps cover my body every time I hear one of them. So, if they're not after me to eat me and they think I am a traitor, then what are they going to do to me? It doesn't matter. I have to concentrate on what's ahead. Just don't trip, don't fall or it's all over. That's what matters right now.

  My chest feels like it's on fire. My shoulder is killing me and I can start to feel my back cramping. I want to stop. The first car can't be more than fifty yards away, though. Once I get to it, I can at least jump in and try to duck out of sight. Maybe then they'll pass by and leave me be. I have to push on.

  The lumbering shadows up ahead give me comfort. The grouping of cars can't be more than one-hundred feet away. One of those cars has to have fuel in it. Even if there's a walker in one of them; if it has fuel, I'm taking it. Fuck them.

  I steal one last glance over my shoulder at the mob forming behind me. Thank God they're not very fast. If I have to be one of them and retain any of my speed, I'll be like the Usain Bolt of zombies. I have enough distance from them that I can at least check out two cars before I have to worry about them and car number one is right in front of me.

  I stop at the first car. Nothing looks like it is smashed in. I reach for the door but stop. There's no point. The tires are flat
as hell and this ride isn't going anywhere. On to the next.

  The next one looks promising. It's a big ol' Suburban, but the thing is built like a tank. It looks empty, too. I open the door and slide into the driver's seat. There, like a miracle, the keys are dangling from the ignition. I reach for the keys...

  Then I immediately stop. A strong smell of gas washes over me. I quickly hop out and check the ground. Nothing. There's no scent of it out here. It's all coming from inside. I take a quick walk around and stop at the back. I press my hands against the window and peer in to find six big-ass gas cans lined up in the rear.

  "Halle-fucking-luyah!"

  I run back to the driver’s door and hop in. A flash of light streaks across the chrome and floods the interior. I slam the door and look through the rearview mirror just as a flurry of air-horn blasts shatter the air around me.

  A semi appears over the hill behind me. He's still at least a half-mile away but he's hauling ass. The air horns are blowing incessantly, which means only one thing: there's got to be something wrong.

  I grab the keys and hit the ignition. The starter whirrs and groans for what seems like forever. I let it go and look in the mirror at the eighty-thousand pound torpedo coming right at me. I hit the ignition again and nothing.

  "Come on, motherfucker!" I slam my fist on the steering wheel.

  A quick glance through the rearview reveals the semi in all its glory, close enough now that every single marker light and clearance light is visible as it heads right for me.

  I turn the ignition again and the engine roars to life. Finally! A silent prayer escapes my lips as I throw the Suburban in "drive."

  A loud bang rumbles through air followed by the horrific screech of skidding tires. The headlights flood the interior and I know it's close. I look back to see the ass-end of the trailer coming around the driver's side of the rig. The fucking thing is going to jack knife right in my path! I look to the right and all I see is the ditch and the line of trees right past it. No turning back, I stomp the accelerator and speed toward the ditch.

  The rig flips behind me and slams to the road. Glass shatters and sparks streak from the rending metal in a shower as the speeding steel mass streaks across the roadway.

  The Suburban hits the ditch hard and sends me crashing head-first against the roof as the wrecked semi streaks past behind me. It hits the cars and explodes in a cacophony of fire and shrapnel. The trail of diesel fuel behind the wreckage ignites into a wall of fire.

  I hit the floor of the suburban and cover my head as the windows shatter all around me and every last trace of air is stripped from my lungs. I close my eyes and wait for death.

  10 PM

  HOUR NINE

  The heat rushes over me and I await the searing pain of being consumed by fire, but it doesn't happen. I quickly sit up and look at the back. The gas cans are still intact. I'm still intact - not a bad deal after all.

  I stare out the window. The flaming wreckage slams into the oncoming horde of walkers, sending burning corpses flying. The bodies look like sparks shooting into the air.

  What the hell just happened? Surely that truck driver wasn't trying to save me. He couldn't have seen me to begin with. Was he being attacked by a walker? Or, was he already one of them? Either way, my path is clear.

  I hop out of the Suburban and give it a quick walk around. Tires are still there. The driver's side headlight is broken. Other than that and the fact it now has no windows and it's blackened as hell from the smoke from all of the burning diesel fuel, everything seems to look okay. The blessings seem to keep coming and coming.

  Blessed are the damned, Michael. Isn't that how the saying goes?

  "Not so fast."

  The amber hues of flames dancing from corpses dappled around the roadway begin to move. Charred bodies, some completely intact, others missing arms or entire lower extremities reach out with gnarled fingers and claw the earth in an effort to continue their original course for me. There can't be much left in their heads other than the hunger, both physical and mental. Either way, they're not getting me or my family.

  I jump into the driver's seat and slam the shifter in reverse. The Suburban groans as I nurse it out of the ditch and back onto the roadway. With all four tires back on the roadway, I steer for my destination and... stop. Anticipation and fear both wash over me in equal amounts. My family lies ahead and with these things all over, I don't have a moment to spare but, I also don't have a moment to fuck up, either. The path ahead is littered with corpses. Unfortunately, most of them are still moving. Speeding through them like a madman would be careless and stupid. I can't slow either; it would be a different story if this ride still had all of its windows. I can't even find a path clearer than another; all of the walkers are spread out evenly. That doesn't leave me any options.

  I begin to navigate through the sea of walkers, attempting to avoid contact at all cost, but it does absolutely no good. For every walker that is spared, two others meet a gruesome, yet fitting demise.

  Looking at the state of things as they are now, it's hard to imagine life beforehand. But, think about it. These walkers were all normal people - teachers, doctors, the local cable guy - all with lives of their own. Some were mothers and fathers, grandparents and children. Every single one of them were living, breathing - and thinking - beings just trying to make it through life. Now, they're all reduced to what - an eternity of mindless wandering and primitive hunger? I really hope Doctor Kinnelson comes up with something, because I don't want to be like this.

  As I mow through them one by one, I can't help but think about them and feel sorry for them.

  That's good, Michael. Once you lose that feeling of compassion, you're one step closer to being one of them.

  I have to agree with my conscience's Yoda-like wisdom. I mean, after all, is that not one of the main things that separates us from them to begin with? We think. We breathe. We love, for Christ's sake. All they do is walk and feed and make other zombies to add to their ranks, right?

  Bones and flesh crunch beneath the tires as I push forward. With only one headlight to navigate my way, visibility would be pure shit if it wasn't for the fire dancing off the wreckage of the overturned semi; its twisted, gnarled frame bares hardly any resemblance of its former self.

  I strain to look past the proximity of the headlight; the outline of the Expedition slowly takes shape. Something else does, too.

  Icy, dead fingers grip the door frame and pull their host into view. Once a woman, now reduced to a sickly looking corpse devoid of any beauty or sense of humanity from her former existence. Thick saliva beads off her chin dappled with spots of coagulated blood. Eyes flit and flutter as they search for something to eat; teeth gnashing open and closed.

  Hissing growls emerge from between lips curled back against rotting teeth. I don't know where or how the sounds could even be made, considering I don't hear any breath, unless it is too shallow for my ears to pick up.

  Her eyes meet mine and they finally focus as she stares into my soul. Her left hand lifts from the door frame and slowly extends toward my face; her mouth hangs still.

  I look into her eyes and for a split second, it looks like there is a glimmer of humanity in the cloudy, lifeless pupils. Is she thinking?

  My heart starts thumping in my chest as her hand moves closer to my face and I'm sure it will give me away. My fingers instinctively snake around the grip of the pistol on the center console as I prepare myself.

  Her fingertips touch my cheek. They're cold and clammy and I want nothing more than to tear away from them but I don't. The rest of her hand quickly follows suit. Nothing else follows but a soft moan as her hand rests on my face. Her eyes lock on to mine. I stare right back and see something I would never believe. A tear forms in the corner of her eye as her mouth closes. She swallows hard and gently pulls her hand away; her eyes never leave mine, even after she starts to walk away. Is it compassion? Or, is it just the final remnants of her humanity hanging desperately
from a thread of an existence it can no longer have?

  I slump back in my seat and breathe. Air invades my lungs and it feels like they're on fire. My heart is pounding in my chest. I raise my hand to my mouth and each reverberation of my heart sends aftershocks through my arms. I've never experienced anything like this... ever.

  I cover my eyes and try to wipe the image away. She was thinking. Somewhere inside her, there was a part of her that remember what it felt to love - to be loved - and that part wanted to hold on. But it couldn't. That last tear was the final wave of the white flag. This... disease has already won.

  "Michael!"

  My body instinctively jumps to attention as Kari's scream rings out.

  "Kari!"

  More screams pierce the air, this time from Steven and Lexi. Before I even know what's happening, the Suburban is moving on a straight heading for them. Corpses succumb to a grisly yet fitting fate as the four-thousand plus pounds of vehicle effortlessly tramples over them.

  The silhouette of the Expedition slowly grows nearer. Features once in shadow become visible - all too visible for me. My heart sinks. The doors are open and walkers are surrounding the metal skeleton.

  I stomp on the brakes and skid to a halt within twenty feet of the Expedition. There has to be at least a dozen of those fucker around... and in the car!

  "Get away from them, you motherfuckers!"

  I squeeze the trigger. The shot rings out like thunder in my ears as the first walker drops. The one inside on the driver's seat looks up. I line the red dot up right between the fucker's eyes and squeeze the trigger again, effectively spreading his brain matter all over the headrest.

  I don't hear my wife or kids anymore.

  "Kari!"

  I see arms wave from on top of an old panel truck. My heart skips a beat when my eyes move downward to see the panel truck is surrounded by walkers, too.