by Radke, K. E.
Jeff was a huge man, the bulk of him fat, and his entire body was visible because he was wearing a Mawashi, the loin cloth sumo wrestlers don before a fight. Obvious chunks of him were missing all over his body, like someone tried to eat him, but there was just too much to finish him off. The holes were filled with squirming, white, fat worms living off the rotting body. Each step Jeff took shook every layer of fat he had, causing him to leave a trail of maggots in his wake. Dark, thick veins covered his torso fanning outward, thinning near his limbs.
Trying to control his gag reflex, Lincoln eyed the retired sumo wrestler and made sure he kept a good distance away from the massive man hungry for human meat. Jeff could devour the entire neighborhood, Lincoln chuckled at the thought. A black cloud of flies found an opening after Jeff squeezed through the doorway and swarmed forward catching Lincoln off guard.
He swatted at the flying insects distracted for a moment by what they could be carrying from being trapped in the house with the virus infested, rotting corpse they’d been feeding on. The little black bugs twisting, sliding, and buzzing all around him, carrying the diseased, putrefied tissue with it. Completely disgusted, he was glad he’d left the mask over his face because it kept the swarm from infiltrating his nose and mouth.
The snapping jaws brought Lincoln’s attention back to the sumo and his traveling pockets of pus, blood, and maggots. Lincoln took a few steps back to make sure he wouldn’t be splattered by the aftermath from the bullet rippling through the giant mass of dying flesh. He lined up the shot and pulled the trigger, but the gun malfunctioned. Allowing the sumo to get much closer than he was supposed to.
Letting his body take over, he automatically fixed the jam without giving into the dreadful thoughts threatening to emerge. Aiming quickly he fired, watching the bullet disappear inside his head.
Unbalanced by the amount of flesh eaten by someone on his left side, Jeff tilted to the right tumbling forward in a massive wave of fat flapping and jiggling to and fro. Maggots rippled upward flying through the air from the impact causing an involuntary shiver down Lincoln’s spine.
Skirting the giant man Lincoln called inside the house getting a whiff of decomposing bodies that made his stomach churn, “Wyatt? I swear if I find you alive in here capable of moving and you made me walk into this fly infested shithole… ,” Lincoln’s voice trailed off as he took a small step inside.
Several shouts stopped him from entering the house and he spun around to search for the culprit. Ready to pull the trigger he scanned the area and found Terry sprinting down the side of the road. Glinting in his hand was a gun. Lincoln yelled across the street in a dead serious tone, “Stop running or I’ll shoot.”
Terry scrutinized his surroundings for the disembodied voice slowing down. His eyes found Lincoln aiming at him and he lifted his hands in surrender giving Lincoln a perfect view of Wyatt’s gun.
“That’s not yours,” Lincoln growled eyeing the weapon in his hand. “Slide the gun to me. Where’s Wyatt?”
“Since when are you and Wyatt friends?” Terry asked. Lincoln really hated people who answered his question with a question.
“Where. Is. Wyatt.” Lincoln moved closer irritation etched onto his face. “Slide the gun over and then start moving. Take me to him or I will leave you bleeding in the street without legs to crawl on.”
“He’s probably already dead. We can still make it,” Terry huffed signaling they should move in the opposite direction of the trouble he was trying to avoid.
“If he’s dead then I’ll shoot you right now and give these fucking things another food source,” Lincoln was losing the little patience he had left.
“Oh come on! I barely made it out of there!”
“With Wyatt’s gun,” Lincoln pointed out blatantly. “You’re either a thief or a murderer.”
“You won’t shoot me.”
Lincoln snarled at the accusation of him bluffing, “Go ahead, take off. I’ll make sure you’re still alive when the ghouls find you. You just won’t be able to run away.”
Terry glanced at freedom and then back to Lincoln ready to pull the trigger. The odds weren’t in his favor so he reluctantly slid Lincoln the gun and questioned, “You’ll protect me if we go back?”
Lincoln stuck the 9mm in his holster, “You keep running your fucking mouth instead of your legs. I hope Wyatt can still be as annoying as you when we find him. Seeing he’s missing his gun and all. You’re survival depends on Wyatt’s, so the faster you move the better chance you have.”
“A chance to face death again,” he grumbled slowly turning back to retrace his steps.
“You left Wyatt to face his,” Lincoln countered grimly staring him straight in the eye.
Terry saw the deadly determination on Lincoln’s face. Trying to keep his cool, he moved quickly, and dashed back the way he came with Lincoln on his heels. Ten houses down the road, he pointed to the one on the end that had a ghoul meandering on the lawn. She was a skinny little thing in a pink nightgown with fresh blood running down her chin. Snapping jaws twisted in the direction of their footsteps. Before she had a chance to reach for one of them Lincoln shot her, and signaled Terry to head inside the house with the door wide open.
“Seriously?!” Terry whispered taking a step back. “I brought you to him.”
“You brought me to a house. I have yet to see Wyatt.” Lincoln paused. “Alive.”
“I don’t have anything to kill them with.”
“You had a gun.”
“I’m not a gun slinging fanatic. In California we had laws against people like you,” Terry peered down his nose at Lincoln and gave him a smug expression.
“Is that so? Well you’re in Texas now boy,” Lincoln stepped up into Terry’s face making the man cower. “And just insulted the gun slinging fanatic that happens to be your only protection once your ass gets inside that fucking house.”
“I’m not going back inside that house,” Terry’s voice was buckling under the crazed look in Lincoln’s eyes.
Staying silent for a few seconds, Lincoln shrugged his shoulders and said, “Ok then wait out here for me.” Lincoln fired into the lawn right next to Terry’s foot making him jump out of the way right onto the tiny porch.
Something hissed and snapped before it came into view. Terry screamed as it made its debut in the doorway. He didn’t know which was worse facing the cannibal or Lincoln. Squeezing himself against the side, he cleared the way so Lincoln could shoot it. The shot was loud and deafening, but the ghoul caught a bullet in the forehead and it fell straight back.
“Just remember if you run, I’m leaving you immobile and alive. So when one of those things catch up to you,” Lincoln pointed to the thing he just killed. “You’ll feel every second of them tearing you apart.”
Breathing heavily Terry felt his heart pounding in his chest from his recent brush with death. His eyes looked past the dead body on the floor into the house making sure the path was clear before he entered. Lincoln’s threat pushed him forward more than courage and he stepped inside with Lincoln right behind him shouting, “Wyatt!”
Bloody footprints were smeared near the entrance, and both men followed the crimson trail with their eyes down the hallway. The sitting room on the left had furniture out of place—like someone repeatedly walked into it—with dull ruby stains that matched the bloody footprints on the carpet. A giant table with twelve chairs was in the room on the right and Terry popped his head inside before moving through it to get to the kitchen.
“We were separated in here. He was on the other side of the kitchen,” Terry explained hastily.
“Wyatt!” Lincoln shouted again before he asked Terry, “Do you know who the blood on the floor belongs to?” All the color drained from Terry’s face silently giving him an answer.
Through the dining room Lincoln peered into the kitchen where all the action happened. Cabinets were left open from the raid. Countertops had leftover, unwanted items as the person surveyed the shelves for somethi
ng better. Dumped on the floor were plastic, clear shelves and vegetable bins that were pulled out of the fridge and thrown in every direction. Glass from broken condiment jars, putrid food, and bloody footprints were all smeared across the tile like one giant finger painting.
The backdoor creaked making Lincoln aim at the out of place noise. It swayed slowly to and fro allowing leaves, dirt, and debris inside, keeping the stench inside the house bearable. Lincoln cursed, feeling his heart palpitate.
“Lincoln?” Wyatt’s muffled voice came out of nowhere. No one budged an inch as the fridge door slowly popped open. Lincoln aimed, putting his finger on the trigger until Wyatt stuck his head out. Exhaling in relief, Lincoln’s arm dropped to his side.
Wyatt gave a guttural growl before he lunged at Terry. Both of them fell on the ground and rolled in the disgusting mess on the floor. Plastic shelves were thrown and cabinet doors were used to smash or stop flying limbs. It was an amateur wrestling match where anything within reach was fair game.
Terry threw a gob of gunk from the floor in Wyatt’s face trying to blind him, a failed attempt to get the upper hand. Not bothering with the goop on his face, Wyatt refused to let the man up and continually tried to punch Terry blindly.
Lincoln allowed the match to play out, staying alert and continually scanning the kitchen and dining room for dead squatters still moseying around. The noise from the two grown men would bring out any stragglers. He glanced at the other entrance to the kitchen and found his target.
The flesh eating husband groaned like a frog as he watched the feast in front of him, trying to knock each other’s lights out. His fingers brushed against Wyatt’s shoulder, not waiting for a winner or loser. Lincoln shot him in the side of the head. Gore sprayed Wyatt and Terry as the dead body fell on top of them leaking darks fluids all over them.
Wyatt finally wiped the gunk from his face and stared at the exploded skull a few inches away before jumping off Terry.
“You done? Because it’s time to go,” Lincoln said gruffly leading the way out without waiting for them to follow.
They scrambled over the debris on the floor and followed Lincoln into the dining room, where he’d stopped in his tracks. A teenage boy blocked the exit snapping his teeth, watching the three grown men hungrily with his cherry red eyes. Under any other circumstances Lincoln would have guessed he was high.
“That’s the one I was hiding from,” Wyatt whispered.
Twenty Three
T he barely audible words caused the ghoul’s bloodshot eyes to settle on Wyatt. His movements were jerky, like a junkie needing a fix. Deep gouges crisscrossed over the taut skin on his face while a deep, disturbing croak rolled out of his mouth.
The ghoul’s head jerked toward Lincoln when he aimed the Glock in his hand. Terry reacted by shoving Lincoln forward, sacrificing him so the cannibal would be satisfied while he escaped. Wyatt sucker punched Terry while Lincoln fell forward into a dining room chair.
The gun flew out of Lincoln’s hand so he could catch his fall, and immediately after hitting the ground he rolled on his back taking the chair with him as a shield so the boy couldn’t pounce on him. He gripped the chair with white knuckles and kept it steady as the snarling ghoul’s weight fell on top of him. Decaying hands clawed at the chair trying to remove the obstacle so he could tear into his food source.
“The gun Wyatt! Get the gun!” Lincoln yelled keeping the chair between the flesh eater and himself.
Not taking the chance to glimpse if Wyatt was still in the room, Lincoln had to rely on the man’s integrity, and believe Wyatt wouldn’t leave him in such a catastrophic dilemma. Fingers tips were inches away from clawing his face when a loud thump came from the other side of the dining room wall distracting the cannibal.
The rabid face so determined to slice through Lincoln jolted its attention to the noise, and shifted some of its weight off him. Lincoln didn’t waste the opportunity and pushed the chair outward. The kid flew back landing on his ass. Pulling the gun from his holster, Lincoln’s hands coordinated themselves, and pulled the trigger.
Cursing in frustration because he missed, Lincoln couldn’t get another shot off because the boy had swiftly lunged out of the dining room to investigate the noise he’d heard on the other side of the wall in search of easier prey.
“Wyatt!” Lincoln shouted in distress. A spray of bullets embedded the wall beside him and he glanced back to find Wyatt still firing with hope of hitting his target—something he clearly couldn’t see.
Relief spread over Lincoln for a second before he yelled, “What the fuck are you shooting at?!”
“The fucking parasite!”
“And if you hit Terry instead?!”
“That’s none of your fucking business Lincoln!”
Terry was screaming his head off until he suddenly went silent. Trembling uncontrollably, Wyatt let the gun fall to his side as he realized he could have just killed a man that wasn’t already dead. The silence left them with a loud thumping noise.
Lincoln quietly maneuvered himself through the kitchen trying to be soundless over the mess of food and debris. He peered down the hall where he thought Terry was being eaten. To his surprise, Terry wasn’t being ripped to shreds by snapping jaws. The kid was smashing Terrys’ face against the wooden floor trying to break his skull open.
Lincoln aimed but Wyatt pushed Lincoln’s arm down mouthing he wanted to try. Not sure if he meant to kill the parasite or Terry, Lincoln shrugged his shoulders and got out of the way. Stretching out his arm and lining up the shot, Wyatt took out the kids nose. Bone splintered and blood spilled through broken flesh as the kid fell over on top of Terry.
A huge grin spread across his face as Lincoln patted him on the back. Lincoln raised an eyebrow, “Why are you so happy?”
“Because you came looking for me.”
“For Melanie’s sake. Phoebe would have if I didn’t,” Lincoln said roughly and shifted away from him.
“She’s a mother first and wife second. She wouldn’t leave Melanie’s side for me.”
“Well next time I’ll know not to bother.”
Wyatt’s grin got wider, his tone lilting, “You were worried I was being eaten behind the wall.”
Lincoln grunted clearly uncomfortable, “I could care less if you die. If you want I can take you back in pieces to Melanie.” Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you weren’t worried, then why’d you scream my name?”
“It was an angry scream, because I thought you left me here after I came to save your ass,” Lincoln tried to lie convincingly. He couldn’t tell if Wyatt bought the excuse.
“I didn’t leave you at the farm, and I hated you then. Surely you know I wouldn’t just up and leave you here after you came to rescue me?”
Lincoln didn’t have a response. Instead he gazed at the dead boy and Terry lying motionless on the floor. Walking up carefully, he felt for a pulse on Terry’s neck and dragged the dead kid off him searching for bite wounds.
“Um…there’s still a girl somewhere in here,” Wyatt whispered.
Lincoln quit examining Terry’s arm looking up at Wyatt alarmed.
“Red or filmy eyes?”
“I wasn’t close enough to check. I was more concerned with staying alive and hiding in the fridge.”
“He’s still breathing,” Lincoln whispered. “I don’t see any bite marks. The kid seemed more concerned at cracking his head open than eating him.”
Sighing Wyatt finally said, “Come on, we’ll drag him outside.”
“How’d he end up with your gun?” Lincoln asked flipping him over. “You drag I’ll be lookout.” They both shuddered at the damage to Terry’s face. It looked like he made out with a mallet.
“I put it down on the counter to reach up into the higher cabinets and when the rotting lady showed up she scared the crap out of us. He took it and ran. I was right behind him until I saw the kids coming down the stairs. I panicked and backtracked to the kitchen.”
Wyatt was busy dragging Terry out of the house while Lincoln listened and kept watch. Pulling the door shut behind him, Lincoln felt it catch on something that kept it from closing completely.
Childlike fingers wiggled in between the door jamb and door. Lincoln pulled the door knob before a tiny arm squeezed through the space. Grounding his feet, Lincoln pulled the knob until the door started to slice through her skinny fingers. Warm liquid oozed out of the wounds as the door tore through the rotten flesh exposing her bones. The bones cracked, and Lincoln kicked at the fingers until they turned outward completely snapping off and the door shut with a squelching sound.
Between the two of them they managed to drop Terry off on his doorstep. They rang the doorbell so whoever was home could deal with him. Neither one of them wanted to stay to explain the incident or get blamed in hindsight, so they sped down the street before anyone opened the door.
Wyatt walked a little further from his house with Lincoln getting the courage to speak up, “Thank you. For coming to find me.”
“Yea…sure,” Lincoln answered refusing to make eye contact.
“Do you wanna come over and hang out?”
Lincoln was taken aback by the offer and gazed up at him, “I need to check on Sabrina.”
The corners of Wyatt’s mouth spun upward, “Happy wife happy life.”
“She’s not my wife.”
“One day she won’t be there and you’ll regret saying that.”
“Go home Wyatt,” Lincoln sighed feigning irritation, and watched him peel away to head back to his own house.
As soon as he was visible from the front window Sabrina yanked the door open shrieking, “Where have you been?! I was so worried it’s been hours and there were gun shots!” she raced to his side touching the spots of blood on his face. “Are you hurt?” There was genuine concern in her eyes.
“It’s someone else’s,” he grunted softly sounding tired.
“Ew, and you let me touch it,” she whined holding her hand out in disgust. “Take a shower. I’ll make you something to eat.”
