by A. P. Fuchs
The young man and woman looked at him with wide eyes, jaws slack.
"You're welcome,” he said.
"Oh, right. Thanks. Sorry,” the young man said.
"Yeah, thanks,” the girl said.
"You guys really shouldn't be out here,” Joe said.
The girl with pink hair glanced at the bodies around her feet. “We know. We just..."
Joe hefted his gun. Still one shot left till he had to cock the hammer again. The chamber held twelve rounds. He still had four twelve-round clips attached to his belt. There were more at home. “Just?"
The scrawny young fellow stepped forward. “We had to get out of my place."
Joe arched an eyebrow.
"Bad case of rats."
"Rats?” Joe said.
"Yeah, dead ones. You know, the kind with white eyes just like"—the guy kicked one of the bodies at his feet—"these suckers right here."
The infection's spread?
"Don't worry. They're still trapped inside his building, just over there.” The girl nodded down the street.
"You look surprised,” the guy said to Joe.
"Should I be?” It wasn't the best thing to say, but Joe had been so isolated from the rest of the world for so long other than for his nocturnal activities that he forgave himself for this one slip in conduct.
"All I know is something's changed,” the girl said. She stepped forward and stood by her friend. “There's been rumors online that things just feel different somehow. It's hard to put into words. But, I think, you and me and those rats just proved that something has changed. So far as we know, the animals hadn't been affected by the rain."
"A rat's an animal? Thought they were rodents,” the guy said.
The girl jabbed him in the arm then looked at Joe. “Forgive him. He's an idiot.” To the guy: “Yes, doofus, rats are animals, too."
The guy rubbed his arm where she poked him. “What're you calling me ‘doofus’ for?"
The girl smiled.
Joe was not amused. Perhaps last year he would have found this kind of humor funny. He always had a thing for how people interacted and loved reflecting on it, usually with a bit of wit. It was one of the reasons he loved Seinfeld so much in his former life. These days, however...
"You should get off the street,” he told them.
"You're right,” the girl said.
"You two have a place to go?” He wanted them to say yes. He still had work to do tonight.
"Yup,” she said.
"Okay, then. We're done."
"Uh huh."
Her friend didn't seem to know what to say. By the looks of things, she was the commander in whatever relationship the two had going.
He eyed them a moment then said, “Bye.” And turned to walk away.
"Look, um—” the young man said behind him.
Joe stopped but didn't turn around, only cocked his head toward them.
"Thanks for saving us."
Joe managed a half smile. “You're welcome. Stay safe."
"'Kay."
Joe walked away.
* * * *
You're such a coward, Des thought as he watched their mysterious rescuer move away from them. Uh oh. “Hey, uh, guy in the coat?"
The man stopped walking.
"Those rats are over there, remember? You're headed right—"
The man merely nodded and kept going.
To Billie: “The dude's gonna get himself killed!"
"Not if they don't escape,” she said.
"True. Still."
"Okay, it's over. Let's go.” She maneuvered around the bodies, arms held out to keep her balance as she tried to find footing.
"Careful, Bill."
"Don't call me that."
"I said ‘Billie.’”
"No, you didn't."
The two walked down the street, eyes peeled for any more of the undead. They took turns looking back at the man who had appeared out of nowhere and saved their lives.
It wasn't long before the man turned a corner, and was gone.
Des clicked his tongue. “Great."
"What?"
He stopped walking and gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Left my bar back there."
"Do you really want to go back?"
"Do you?"
"No."
"Me neither."
He licked his lips. Some “zombie wrangler” you turned out to be. “Wanna just leave it, then?"
She shrugged. “Up to you."
He set his eyes on the mound of bodies in the distance. He really didn't want to have to go over there and pick through them. Even more, he didn't want to get their blood on his hands and accidentally imbibe it. He thought of the big black zombie that nearly killed him and how the dude had put a blood-covered finger down his throat. What kind of blood that was, he didn't know. Hopefully the kind that wasn't contaminated. Already feeling ashamed over his lack of courage, he decided to keep it to himself for now and only tell Billie if he absolutely had to.
"We'll be all right. There's more of the undead back there than we've ever seen all at once in this area. That's probably all of them and even if there are a few more out there, they're probably not on this street,” he said.
"Okay. Your call."
They kept walking.
A few minutes later they came to a four-way stop. As they crossed the street, Des felt the strength run from his legs when he caught sight of moving shadows flanking them.
The undead were coming in from either side, droves of them.
"Run!” he shouted and pulled Billie by the hand.
The second Billie caught sight of the zombies she hopped into a sprint and the two bolted down the street.
It wasn't long till they left the four-way and walking dead behind and were almost at her place. The two halted when a fresh pack of zombies were making their way toward them, several already looming around her apartment building, rocking side to side on their heels to a tune only they could hear.
Des threw his hands into the air. “What's going on?"
"I don't know. This is new. And we're trapped."
"Not necessarily. We can cut through the houses, you know, hop fences and zip through a few backyards. Maybe the neighboring streets aren't as crowded and we can come back later."
"Which way?"
"Right."
"I'm asking which way to go?"
Didn't she understand him? “I said ‘right.’”
They took off across the street. As they ran, Billie said, “Thought you were being sarcastic."
"Now's not the time, Bill."
"Don't call me that!"
They reached a five-foot-tall brown-slatted fence.
"Here,” Des said and cupped his hands together. “I'll boost you over."
"Thanks."
Billie raised her knee, put her foot in his hands and placed her palms on the top of the fence.
"On three,” he said. “One, two, three.” And boosted her up.
Billie was straddling the top beam on her stomach when she suddenly stopped.
"Come on, hurry,” he said.
She hopped back down. “Not this way."
"Why?"
She didn't need to answer.
Groaning and wheezing filled the air.
Des peered over the fence then shot back with a jolt when a pair of white dead eyes popped up to greet him.
With a shout, he turned and ran, Billie behind him.
They reached the street and were greeted by a row of undead men, women and children.
The deceased came toward them.
The strong, hinting feeling that this could be a new chance to prove himself struck him hard and quick. But who was he kidding? There had to be at least thirty walking dead in front of him and who knew how many behind.
He could only think of one thing to say: “Run!"
They made a beeline to the right, zipping past the row of zombies as fast as they could. Des pressed his heels hard into t
he ground, creating a deep burn in his thighs. Billie ran beside him and he realized that she could have easily outrun him but was holding back for his sake.
Does she have to be that good? he wondered. Man, beautiful and fast.
He glanced over at her, watching her pink hair swing in the wind as she gunned it forward.
A large shadow appeared in his peripheral and WHAM! a dull smack plowed into his skull as a massive arm and meaty hand crashed down on his forehead, cutting off his sprint and sending him backside first to the ground. The world spun. Billie was somewhere ahead. Dizziness kicked in and for a second Des forgot where his legs were. Then, remembering they were splayed out in front of him, he tucked his knees into his chest, went to stand, and was struck down again.
An enormous dead man stood over him, three or four hundred pounds of rotted and gray flesh with skin peeling in places. The putrid stench of BO mixed with rotten fish made his stomach lurch. He swallowed the gulp of puke that rose at the back of his throat; its sharp orange-juice-like taste only added to the discomfort wreaking havoc on his insides.
The mammoth zombie grunted.
Dragging footsteps scraped along the ground behind him. He dared not look back to see how close they were. He could only imagine sneaking a peek and finding them so close he'd be a goner anyway.
Where was Billie?
From somewhere behind the wall of the dead gathering around him: “Des! Where are you?"
"Here,” he croaked. He doubted she heard him.
The fat man's dead hand crashed down again, swatting him in the side of the head. His whole body swayed with the blow and he was face to face with the grass in no time. The grass's boggy scent was utter relief compared to the foul stench that clouded the air. A part of him didn't want to get up but lie on his side and drink it all in. But he had to get up. He had to. He couldn't die. Not without telling Billie...
"Haaaaaiii yaaaaaah!"
Des glanced up.
Billie was on the fat man's back, legs wrapped around his sides, her small, feminine fists raining blow upon blow on the dead man's head and the tops of his shoulders.
"No...” Des said and cursed himself for not being able to speak properly. Was he that out of it?
The fat man growled, reached a flabby arm over his shoulder and grabbed Billie by the back of the neck. With one clunky swing forward, he whipped her off his back and sent her in a flip on top of Des. Her skull collided with his and ringing sounded in his ears as green and black fuzzies raced across his vision.
He might have said “Ow.” He wasn't sure. His eyes hurt. A sharp pain throbbed at the top left side of his head. Billie was beside him, holding the side of her head, face down to the ground.
"You okay?” he whispered.
She hid her face from him, crying.
"It's okay, Billie. I'm—"
The fat zombie called out a hoarse cry, as if announcing to the others that it was time to feast.
"Billie?"
She huddled into a ball.
"Billie, listen to me.” Des cleared his throat. Was he really going to do this? Might as well. Gonna die anyway. Can't get mad at me if she's de—She can't get mad at me. “I'm sorry, Billie. I wish I could have saved us."
Growls, grunts and wet slurps filled the air above them. Des only half-noticed that the creatures were actually waiting a few moments before eating. Usually they just grabbed their prey and dove right in. Something was happening with them. He just didn't know what it was or what to call it.
Sobbing, Billie finally turned her head on the grass and faced him. Her wide blue eyes were rimmed red from the tears. Hopelessness filled her gaze and blanketed her face.
"I want to say—” he began, whispering. “What I want to tell you is—” Why couldn't he say it? Was he that much of a coward? “What I'm trying to tell you is ... you see, I—"
BOOM!
A bucket of blood splashed onto them, stealing Billie from his sight.
BOOM!
More blood, like a tidal wave.
The ground shook as something huge and heavy fell to the ground.
The dead around them growled.
Des wiped the sticky blood from his eyes, trying not to gag from its stench.
Billie was now on her back, doing the same.
The fat dead man lay still at their feet. The others looming over them had their gaze set forward, some, Des thought, with disbelief written on their faces though he wasn't sure they were smart enough to even be in a state of disbelief.
Many dipped their heads and settled their eyes on them.
Crchk.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two dropped dead. One toppled across his and Billie's chests.
Billie shrieked and more shots rang out above them.
"Come on, get it off!” she yelled at him.
He stared at her for a moment, half his mind still wanting to tell her he loved her, the other half coming to grips with the fact that if they didn't get off the ground, they would die.
"Des, you idiot, let's go!"
Grimacing, he said, “Fine. Wanna be tough with me? Fine. Let's get this sucker off then I'm gonna throw you to them. Got it?"
BOOM!
She chuckled despite her tears and with one push they rolled the corpse off them.
He got to his feet first then helped her up.
Dead hands reached for them from all sides.
BOOM!
A dead child fell.
BOOM!
So did a young woman with a hole in her chest. Half her head suddenly went missing in a spray of brain and dark blood.
Des punched the first zombie he saw in the face then kicked another in the knee.
"Don't let them grab you!” he told her.
"Duh!” And she slapped a stooped-over old man across the cheek.
"You hit like a girl!"
"I am a girl!"
BOOM!
BOOM!
With two palms, Des shoved an obese woman away then brought his foot down on a smaller one. He realized after the fact that it was a zombified little girl with her eye missing.
His heart ached for her despite her being the reanimated shell of a cute four-year-old with brown pigtails. That girl, probably in love with dolls and tea parties, could never have known that one day she'd be dead, walking, and stomped on by some gamer who didn't have the guts to tell the girl he adored how he felt about her.
BOOM!
Des found a heavy branch a few feet away from the little girl's body and tossed it to Billie, who immediately began swinging it into the skulls of any of the dead who came near her.
Des scanned the ground for another branch but couldn't see anything, nothing but the—
"Come on,” he breathed. “Can't I get a real weapon? Always some dude's body part.” He remembered the dismembered arm from his video game. With renewed determination, he added, “All right.” And ran and picked up a dismembered leg from the ground, cut off at the knee, a piece of bone sticking out of it.
He swung it around like a baseball bat, socking anything that moved in the side of the head.
As the throng of zombies began to clear, he was finally able to locate the source of the gunshots: the dude with the long trench coat and big gun.
He glanced over at the man, hoping the guy would see him and he could give him a nod of acknowledgement. Instead, the fellow, lost in a trance of trigger-pulling mayhem, blasted shot after shot into the dead, bringing them down one, sometimes two, at a time.
Privately, Des was impressed with the “double kill,” the way the guy was able to fire off one bullet through one zombie's skull, the same bullet embedding itself in the brain of another behind it.
A strong hand grabbed Des's ankle. He brought the leg in a downward swing and knocked out the teeth of dead man who was mostly just torso. The half-body flopped around on the ground as the zombie tried to grab Des's leg again. Des beat the guy in the back of the head with the dismembered leg then dragged the dazed zombie to
the curb and slammed its face down on the curb's edge. With one hard kick, he plowed his heel into the back of the dead man's head, curb-stomping the sucker down so hard that the jagged edge of the curb ripped straight through and removed the top of the guy's head from the rest of his body.
Only then did the man in the trench coat seem to notice and give Des a nod of approval.
Billie had noticed, too, but looked away as if in disgust when Des set eyes on her.
Nothing works in my favor. Ever.
A few more shots and the undead finally stopped moving.
The three stood at different points amidst the field of bodies.
Des couldn't believe how many there were. It was more than what had just been on the street. All those from the other side of the fence must have somehow gotten over it and joined their kin.
Still, three taking out fifty or more wasn't bad at all.
He stepped around and over the bodies and went over to Billie.
"Are you okay?"
She wiped a splatter of blood from the side of her face and cleaned the lenses of her glasses on her shirt. “I'll live.” She put her glasses back on and glanced down to his lower right.
He followed her gaze. “Oh.” And dropped the leg.
The two looked at the guy in the trench coat, who stood among the dead like some kind of beacon, smoke trickling out the barrel of his enormous gun.
The man hefted the weapon. “Shouldn't have left you alone."
Des put his hands on his hips. “We could have handled it."
The guy smirked. “Didn't look like it."
"Always have to say something, don't you?” Billie quietly said to Des.
"Usually."
The three moved off to the side, away from the bodies.
"This isn't normal,” the man said.
"No, it's not,” Billie replied.
The man scanned the bodies. “Seventy-two."
"Seventy—” Des started but his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat. “Seventy-two?"
"Fast counter,” Billie said.
"Necessary habit,” the man said.
Billie and the man stared at one another for a moment then finally broke away when Des coughed.
"Sorry,” she said and offered her hand out to the man. “I'm Billie.” Then with a nod to her right, “This is Des."
The man didn't say anything but only took her hand. Was it Des's imagination or did the two hold hands longer than a normal handshake?
