The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

by Dane Hatchell

  The two continued the journey for what felt like thirty minutes. Above all, staying alive. Keeping their eyes open.

  As they ran, their breathing getting heavier as they went, Rico felt his muscles burning. He thought back on when he used to be nothing more than an out of shape, overweight cop with a wife who hated him. A loser. He couldn’t help but smile as they ran despite their situation. The burn of the run, the ache in his muscles, the heat of sweat beading down his brow, it all reminded him of who he used to be. The shell of a man who spent most nights lounging around at Pop’s old bar. For a moment, he thought about what he and Angie would do if and when they got out of all of this. How he would give her as much space as she need and let time and circumstance determine where their relationship might go. Then, just as the first zombie shuffled out from behind a tree half a block ahead of them, Rico remembered.

  The monster he thought he had put away came back. The crippling feeling of fear and defeat poured into him, making his gun once again feel heavy—the bullets inside calling, longing for him to end it all right then and there. One slight pull of the finger and he would be gone. Away from this hell on earth.

  The zombie saw them approaching. It snarled and hissed as its eyes went wide. Its mouth dropped open, drool and matted blood dropping from its chin. With both arms raised toward Rico and Patrick, it slightly picked up its pace, eager to meet them. To give them a big hug. And embrace them with gnashing teeth and clawing hands.

  “Oh no,” Patrick gasped, stopping to aim his revolver.

  “Shhh.” Rico stopped, using his hand to lower the Asian man’s weapon. “It will only draw out more. We can take it.”

  Although hesitant, Patrick complied.

  The zombie lumbered forward. From the looks of it, the undead man in all his splendor and putrid glory had been a postman. The outfit was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the blue mailer’s tote bag slung over one shoulder. The man was covered in dirt and brown muck that couldn’t be anything other than dried blood. The skin below his right eye sagged and flopped with each step.

  Rico walked toward it and put the gun in its holster.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Patrick asked.

  “I’m going to take care of it.”

  “Let’s just go,” Patrick whispered. “We can take a short detour.”

  “No,” Rico said. “It might find a way to call others. I’m not sure how these things communicate yet, and I don’t want to take any chances. It’ll just take a sec.”

  As he stepped toward the approaching zombie, Rico knelt down, picking up an ornamental brick lining a flowerbed.

  “Dude, I don’t want to see this.”

  “So don’t.” Rico looked back.

  Patrick tightly closed his eyes.

  The undead postman started to open its mouth even wider. Just as it began to moan, Rico lunged forward with the brick up over his head. The rock came down on the creature’s skull with a splattering effect that Rico didn’t anticipate. The zombie’s skull caved in as if no bone had been present under the scalp. With a dull splat, the zombie fell limp, blood and pink chunks of gore gushed from under the rock and mashed skull.

  “Is it over?” Patrick asked.

  “Yep,” Rico said, staring down at the unmoving creature. When he turned back around to face Patrick, the Asian man still had his eyes closed. There was no time to warn him. “Patrick!”

  A zombie had stepped out onto the sidewalk behind Patrick and was on him before he had time to react. The obese female fell onto his back with teeth snapping, tearing out chunks of flesh.

  Patrick shouted out as he tried to get away.

  “No!” Rico yelled, and dashed over to save his friend.

  Patrick fell to the pavement, thrashing under the creature that must have outweighed him by 150 pounds.

  The zombie clawed and bit, sinking its teeth deep into his right shoulder. Blood spurted forth as the zombie tore away loose fabric, skin, and muscle. Patrick’s shirt instantly soaked with crimson.

  The ghoul gulped flesh like a bird choking down a whole fish and went back for more.

  Rico charged forward with his gun at the ready. At point blank, barrel jammed against the undead woman’s skull, the former policeman pulled the trigger. Pus and matted chunks of dead flesh flew in every direction.

  Patrick screamed.

  The zombie fell limp.

  Rico holstered his gun and pulled the woman off Patrick. The wounds on his back looked nasty. There was no time to do anything about that now. “Come on, man. Get up.” He grabbed him under his arms and helped lift him up. “You can’t stay here. We’ve got to move.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything other than a few grunts and indecipherable curses. He was in obvious shock and in automatic mode when Rico pulled him along.

  Blood gushed from Patrick’s shoulder as they escaped. Zombies exited the open doors of homes, stepped out from the corners of streets, and out from behind abandoned cars.

  Rico didn’t stop this time. The cat was already out of the bag. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled Patrick along.

  Rico wouldn’t be able to make it to Academy unless Patrick stayed alive long enough to guide them there.

  Chapter 30

  Sweat streamed down Quin’s face as he raced closer to Academy. Zombie activity had been light so far. He was able to smash a few skulls along the way with the butt of his shotgun and didn’t have to resort to gunning them down.

  For a minute or two, he heard an engine running in the distance. He did consider heading toward it, but the noise faded away. There was no doubt other people were alive. From the looks of things, most of them had to be in hiding. If that were the case, the passing of time would bring them out in the open. Quin imagined food in the typical household would last maybe a week at best. Desperation would put them on the hunt for food. Desperate people do desperate things. The living would become just as dangerous as the undead; no, the living would be more dangerous.

  The store was still several blocks away when he keyed up the radio and called for help. No one responded. He wasn’t in range just yet.

  When he did get back, he’d have to immediately put his plan in action. Patrick would slow Rico down to buy him enough time to grab Angie and escape.

  By now, he could see the blue Academy sign down the street. A mass of zombies swarmed out in front. Q continued running parallel to the side of the store until he passed it and ended up in the sparsely wooded, undeveloped strip that ran all the way behind Academy.

  Two zombies wandered from behind a tree to give Q a big welcome. He brought the butt of the shotgun up, smashed the lead under the chin, and knocked it down. A well placed foot to the solar plexus laid out number two. Before either could get up, the shotgun butt mashed heads into the ground. After wiping brain goo on the grass, he keyed up the radio again.

  “Hey, get them air horns blowing out front and unlock the back door.” He waited a few seconds and called again. “Wake up, muthafuckas. We had to come back. Let us in.”

  The speaker beeped. “Q? Where are you?” It was Drew’s voice.

  “I’m out behind the store. Call the zombies to the front and unlock the back door.”

  “That was quick. Did you get Sarah’s medicine?”

  “I’ll tell you the story when I get in. Get yo ass in gear before I end up a ten piece dark meat snack for a bunch of zombies!”

  “All right, Debra’s heading to the front to turn on the air horns. Sarah had an anxiety attack so I gave her some sleeping pills. I’ll come to the back and move the SUV so you can drive the van in.”

  “Negatory, my brotha. There ain’t no van.”

  The air horns wailed in the front. The few zombies between Quin and the wall of cars turned and shuffled off toward the noise.

  “What happened to the van?”

  “I ain’t got time to talk. Get back here and unlock the door.”

  A minute later, Drew called. “It’s unlocked.”
r />   Quin clipped the radio on his belt and ran the fifty yards or so to the wall of cars. He put one hand on the hood of a sedan and jumped, sliding his ass over the hood with the shotgun held high in the other hand. His feet hit the concrete as he slid off. Just like in the movies, he thought, giving his ego a boost that he could accomplish anything.

  He made it to the door and turned the knob. Once inside, Drew was there with his gun pointing to the floor.

  “Q? Where are Rico and Patrick?”

  Quin wiped the sweat off his upper lip and waved his hand. “They didn’t make it. Where’s Angie?”

  “Didn’t make it? How—” All expression faded from Drew’s face as the dread set in.

  “Ain’t got time to explain. Where’s Angie?”

  “In your tent, I think, but—”

  “I want you to go turn off the horns and wait for me in the front.”

  “But—”

  “Not now. Do what I said, and I’ll be right there in a minute.” Quin wasted no more time in the back, running down the hall and into the store.

  He emerged near shelves of off season sales merchandise and dashed two aisles over to their tent. There was no time to make up some long, bullshit story. He was going to give the orders, and Angie was simply going to have to do what she was told. Where they would go was beside the point. He would have time to figure that one out once they were on their way.

  “Angie, get your skinny ass out here,” Quin said after arriving at the tent.

  She grunted and poked her head from the tent opening. “What—oh, my God. What happened to you?” Angie stepped out of the tent and took Quin in her arms.

  “That bitch cop friend of yours socked me in the mouth and left me for dead. That’s what!”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that?”

  “He’s jealous and shit. Come on, we gotta go.”

  “You mean go now? Did you get the medicine, and are we all packed up?” Angie pulled away from him. “Where are Rico and Bruce Lee? What happened? We can’t leave without them.”

  “I don’t have time to explain,” he said, stepping past her and crawling into the tent. “We need to leave.”

  The air horns in front stopped.

  “Q, you’re scaring me,” Angie said. “Please… what happened? Where’s Rico? You didn’t kill—”

  “Fuck Rico, and no, I didn’t kill him, though I should have.” He stuck his head out of the tent. “That wetback did this to me.” He pointed at his lip. “He was the one with killing on his mind.”

  “Something had to have happened for him to have hit you. What did he say? What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say shit,” he said, crawling back out of the tent. He flung a backpack over his shoulder, and said, “Rico’s crazy. Lost his marbles, you feel? We ain’t safe no more around that fool.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she said. “And until you tell me exactly what happened, I’m not going anywhere with you. Rico is my friend. He saved my life. He was there for me when no one else was.”

  “Hmm.” Quin rolled his eyes and yanked Angie by the arm. “I said we ain’t got time, and you just need to shut the fuck up and come with me.”

  “Hey, let go of me!” Angie struggled to pull from Quin’s embrace.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Quin turned and saw Drew with his hands planted firmly on his hips.

  “I told you to stay in front. There ain’t nothin’ going on here you need to be concerned about.”

  “I got two eyes. I’d say there’s a lot for me to be concerned about,” Drew said, staring down at Quin’s tight grip around Angie’s arm. “Why don’t you calm down? Let Angie go, and tell me what the hell is going on. I want to hear the whole story of what happened out there.”

  “I don’t gotta explain nothin’ to you, yo. You a disgrace to all us other brothas. Thinkin’ you white and shit.”

  “Excuse me?” Drew said, stepping forward. “I believe you have it backwards, ‘brotha’!” He accented the remark using quotation fingers. “Working hard for a living and volunteering time to help make the community stronger doesn’t make me white. I’m not trying to be white. I’m trying to be a man. Color makes no difference. As for you, all you’ve done is leech off of the system. Use every excuse in the book to get what others have worked for. Hard working people like myself. If either of us is the disgrace, it sure as hell isn’t me. ‘You feel’?” He used finger quotations again. “Now, let her arm go and start talking. No one is going anywhere until we get this over with.”

  “Man, fuck you.” Quin let go of Angie and shoved her to the side. That was so he could hold the shotgun with both hands.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The shotgun blast reverberated like a cannon exploding in a Catholic cathedral.

  Angie snapped her head back and swooned.

  Drew gasped—his eyes and mouth agape with shock as he held his belly. He looked at Quin for a moment and then down at his bleeding abdomen. His body sagged, and his knees buckled. He fell, and blood splattered to either side as his stomach hit the floor.

  Quin was busy congratulating himself when Angie turned on her heels and ran off. “Fuck that bitch,” he said, kneeling down beside Drew. “I didn’t need her anyway.”

  Drew struggled for breath, blood gurgling around his mouth. “Why…?”

  “Why?” Quin chuckled. “Because people are like fish. After a few days, they get old and start to stink. We had a good thing going at first. Everybody was trying hard to get along. I got the proper respect. Then Steven had to turn into a head case. At least he had the decency to take himself out so we wouldn’t have to put up with his shit. Patrick and that stupid slut daughter of yours was busy playing stink finger. That was going to lead to nowhere good. You and your wife thought you was Jesus and the Holy Mother. Saw the world only through your eyes. You didn’t know how to keep it real. And Rico… well, I didn’t like him much, but he knew what was going on. Had a level head. He was too much competition—maybe we was too much alike in some ways. But how was I supposed to get rid of him and keep Angie on my side? I done decided it don’t matter much now. Seeing as how I kind of screwed up my relationship with Angie, what with shootin’ you. But, shit, yo. I got a plan now. I don’t need none of you. Time to smoke this joint.” He laughed even harder now. “Heck, I made a funny.” He patted his pocket and pulled out a lighter. “Won’t have to share my weed with that blonde bitch anymore, either.”

  Quin stood to his feet, pulled a rolled joint from his backpack, and put it in his mouth. While he lit it, Drew grabbed him by the ankle. The dying man’s grip was weak, but Quin had to give it to the man. At least he had some spunk.

  He took a deep draw from the joint and held it in. After exhaling, he kicked Drew’s hand away and started toward the front of the store. There was no turning back now. The only thing that mattered was him.

  He sucked on the joint. The end burned while the smoke rolled down his throat. He held it in for a long time before exhaling.

  ***

  Angie arrived at the Finley’s tent and saw Debra frantically trying to wake Sarah. How was she going to tell them? What was Q going to do? She was scared for everyone’s life now.

  “Debra, uh, your mother. Is she okay?” Angie asked.

  “What was that gun shot? Where’s Dad?” Debra looked up with sad puppy dog eyes.

  Angie bit her lip. “We need to get your mother up.” She dropped to Sarah’s side and began to shake her. “Sarah, wake up. We have to leave. Sarah.”

  Sarah’s eyes blinked a few times before remaining open. She wiped her mouth and sat up. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Angie rose and helped Sarah up and out of the tent. “We’ve got to hide until Rico gets back.”

  “Hide? Why? Where’s Drew?” Sarah looked glassy eyed about.

  “We don’t have time. Come on, let’s go someplace with a lock. The bathroom. We’ll go to the bathroom and wait for Ric
o.” Angie pulled Sarah along. “Come on, Debra.”

  “I’m not going without Drew. Where’s Drew?” Sarah asked.

  “I’ll tell you when we get to the bathroom.”

  Sarah jerked her hand away and stopped in her tracks. “No, tell me now.”

  Angie’s shoulders slumped. After a long pause, Angie said, “Drew’s dead.”

  “What… what are you talking about?”

  “Q shot Drew . . . he’s dead.”

  ***

  Quin stood at the front doors to Academy contemplating how things could have been if Angie would have just listened in the beginning. Why did she have to ask questions? Make things so damn difficult? Now Quin was going to be without a for sure supply of pussy. How long would it be before he found a new squeeze? Hopefully not long. In just a few minutes, he’d have the cop’s Harley underneath him and he’d be off to start a new life. Find a new place to call home—at least for a little while. Losing Angie would be hard on him. He really did have a soft spot for her in his heart, but he’d get over it. There were more bitches in the sea that would make him quickly forget about her. If he were lucky, maybe he could come across a greenhouse stocked to the brim with weed plants. He was imagining it now while he stared blankly out the glass doors toward the horde of undead eager to get in.

  At his feet, the tile was stained red with the blood of Steven’s brains. No matter how hard they had scrubbed, some of it just wouldn’t come up. The dead gnashed and thrashed against the glass. Quin’s presence antagonized them with the eager hope of sustenance sliding down their undead gullets.

  Quin wasn’t concentrating on the undead, not at all. He was imagining what his new life was going to be like. Now that he wasn’t going to be tied down to a group, he could go anywhere he wanted. Do anything he wanted. He would go out into the country like Rico had suggested. Only, he would find himself a nice little house, far away from everything. Self-sustaining with a riverbed and windmill for power. The greenhouse in the backyard filled with full grown marijuana plants and ready for the plucking. The woman that would greet him at the door would be hot. It didn’t matter what color she was. He wasn’t picky. White, yellow, black, it didn’t matter. Because she would be super model hot with big tits and a bodacious booty. Smoke all day and fuck all night. Yeah, it was out there. This wasn’t just wishful thinking. He knew he would find her. Find his plants. He just had to get away. Be given the chance to look.