The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel

by Garza, Michael W.

  “You’re serious then?” she asked.

  “I told you I need to get home,” he said. “My wife’s probably going crazy right now.”

  She pointed to Matt. “What about him?”

  John stared at the boy. He knew he’d have to make that decision eventually, but tried to put it off until now. There was no doubt that Alex would need to be fed, and Matt would suffice. The boy looked up at John and smiled, his eyes filling with a desire to go. John shook his head and got down on a knee as Matt’s smile faded.

  “You’ll be safer here,” John said. “This is closer to home for you and if…” he clenched his teeth, “when help arrives, they’ll get you back to your family.”

  Matt didn’t say anything. He nodded and stared at the ground.

  “Head east first,” Sean said. “Less dead in that area, you’ve got a better chance.”

  “I don’t suppose you could spare some food?” John asked.

  Sean hesitated then walked over to a corner roof post and asked the man on watch for his lunch bag, “here.” He tossed the bag and John caught it. “You better get going. You don’t want to be out in the open when the sun goes down.”

  John pulled two sandwiches from the bag, stuffed them in his pockets, grabbed a hold of the railing, and looked back at Matt. He smiled at the boy and started over the side. Helen hesitated, and then approached the edge of the building.

  “Here take these,” she said holding out a set of keys. “It’s my old camper truck. Only problem is,” she looked toward the far corner of the building, “it’s about four blocks south of here.”

  “On Main Street?” John asked.

  “Sorry.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Trust me,” she said, “you can’t miss it. Look for the old beat up truck with a camper on the back.”

  John nodded, slid the keys in his pocket, and continued climbing. He’d lost sight of the rooftop when he heard her parting words.

  “Good luck.”

  He adjusted his grip on the shotgun and dropped down on the first landing. The metal grate gave a worrisome sound when it took his full weight, and for a second, he wondered if the entire thing might collapse. He looked down at the street and saw he had a long way to go. The height was enough to force him to turn back toward the wall.

  “Nice bricks,” he said to himself.

  The descent continued for much longer than he hoped. He was in a hurry to reach the street, but to his surprise, his so-so fear of heights reemerged with a vengeance. By the time he reached the landing closest to the ground, he was sweating. He figured he could drop to the sidewalk without hurting himself and quickly discovered he would have to do just that. He studied the hole in the landing where the last ladder should have been attached and found the metal forcibly removed.

  “Would have been nice to know,” he said, yelling.

  John studied the street as far as he could see to the west and east. The road was noticeably void of any undead. It appeared something on Main Street had drawn their attention and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why they gathered in such a small space. He needed a vehicle to get home and the keys in his pocket were his only promising lead.

  The impact of the drop from the fire escape was far greater than he expected. The distance didn’t appear far while standing on the bottom platform, but the pain in his legs and back told him otherwise. John managed to keep a grip on his shotgun and to his credit, he only yelped once. He got to his feet and scanned the street for any signs of movement, but found none. He prepared himself to move east with a plan to get as far away from Main Street as he could, and then cover the four blocks south. He hoped he could come back west and reach Helen’s camper truck without much of a run in with the undead mass. He was set to move out, but a muffled scream called his attention to the chaos in the west.

  “Not your problem,” he told himself. He wanted to get away as fast as he could, but found himself crossing the street to get a better look. “Not your problem,” he said with less force.

  John worked his way west between two cars, checking each for keys along the way. Hiding along the sidewalk, he reached the furthest point he could go without stepping out into the open. The sound of the dead was everywhere and part of him fought to keep from even looking at the way ahead. Another muffled scream gave him the strength to raise his eyes over the hood of a car for a look.

  In an instant, the crowded streets made sense. The far side of Main Street was aligned with a long row of vehicles. A mass of walking dead pushed back and forth in a sea of bodies that numbered in the hundreds. They were focused on two vehicles parked close to one another, each containing a woman trapped and terrified.

  John couldn’t make out much about either of the women, but he guessed they’d found the cars unlocked or they would still be standing outside. They no doubt climbed in overcome, only to realize their mistake when it was too late. He watched as long as he could, but knew there was nothing he could do for them. Even if there was something he could do, he wasn’t sure he would bother taking the risk. He turned to leave and something he didn’t expect to see caused him to freeze.

  “Is that a cop?”

  He heard himself ask the question, but wasn’t sure he believed his eyes. The car was several blocks away moving fast in his direction. The color of the vehicle was difficult to make out, but the flashing red and blue lights on its roof were a clear giveaway. The vehicle neared, swerving twice to plow over figures in the road.

  John stepped out into the street, waving his hands above his head. He placed the shotgun on the ground, but kept one foot on top of it. The vehicle approached and he confirmed it was indeed a police car. The lights flashed on and off as it closed, never slowing. It wasn’t until the vehicle was a block away that John’s concern forced him to look back in the direction of Main Street.

  Apparently, the oncoming vehicle, not to mention John’s waving, drew a lot of attention. To his horror, a large mass of the undead had broken away from the women trapped in the cars and were now heading in his direction. John turned back to the police car and discovered it barreling toward him. The lights flashed and the driver swerved again, but it didn’t slow down. The vehicle sped up and John heard the engine roar as the driver hit the gas. He grabbed his gun as he tried to dive out of the way, but the car was right on top of him.

  19

  John dove to avoid the police car’s grill from smashing into his midsection. He hit the street pavement and rolled, managing to grab a hold of his gun. His elbows ground across the cement and scraped a thin layer of skin off as they went. Blood ran down his arms as he got back on his feet. The police car came to a sudden, screeching halt. Long uneven lines of the dead were on the move, making their way down from Main Street. Their disfigured walking corpses covered the street from one side to the other, leaving John no possible escape except for the east end. He forgot all about the trapped women in the cars and turned to run.

  The moment he took his eyes off of the police car, he heard the power-breaking screech of the tires. The car slammed into reverse and rushed past him, stopping a few car lengths away in the middle of the road. John got his first good look at the driver. The wide brim of the officer’s Mounty-styled hat was frayed in several places. John thought the mirrored glasses were cliché, but the toothpick the officer rolled between his teeth was something straight out of a movie. The officer stared at John for a time, revving his engine. John risked a glance back at the dead, trying to calculate how long he could participate in the stare down. Finally, the driver’s side window rolled down and the officer stuck his head out.

  “You need a ride, boy?”

  John didn’t like the tone of his question, but he wasn’t sure he could turn down the offer. From the looks of it, there was shifting movement at the next intersection. If the dead got around him, John knew three rounds weren’t likely to get him home. The officer rolled up his window and continued to rev the engine. John swore, ran around the car
, opened the door, and jumped in.

  “Put your seatbelt on, boy,” the officer said as he slid the car in to drive. “It’s the law.”

  The car lurched forward before John could get a hold of his seat belt. He was thrown back against the seat as the officer drove into the first row of figures as if he was trying to hit as many as he could. He gave a loud holler as the first body smacked against the hood, and then rolled up and over the car. John managed to get his buckle fastened as the officer turned on to Main Street.

  “Right there,” John said, pointing at the women in the two parked cars. “They’re trapped right…” he fell silent as the officer drove past without so much as a glance.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  The officer slammed into a large group of the dead and the car came to an abrupt stop. John shot forward and felt the wind rush from his lungs. A second later, his head jerked back as the car went in reverse. The officer swerved the vehicle to the left, let out an excited cry, and drove up on the sidewalk. It was at that moment that John’s concern for the officer and his intent came to a head.

  Officer Green, as the nametag above his right shirt pocket identified him, was a particularly slim man. The only problem with the standard issue blue, button-down shirt was that it no longer appeared to fit. In fact, two of the buttons near his stomach were missing, showing through to a dirty t-shirt underneath. On closer inspection, John noted Officer Green was not wearing shoes and the jeans he had on were stained with blood.

  “What are you looking at?”

  John’s eyes sprang up to find the officer’s mirrored glasses peering over at him.

  “You been hurt?” John heard himself ask. He adjusted his grip on his shotgun and tried to determine if he could get the barrel turned toward the driver’s seat if needed.

  “Why you asking?” Officer Green asked. He reached between his legs with his free hand and pulled out a .45. “You worried about me?”

  John didn’t answer. He focused on the road trying to keep Officer Green in his peripherals. It was clear to him that Officer Green was not a cop. The wounds on the officer’s arms, which looked like bite marks, concerned John most. “I’m trying to get to my truck,” he said. “It should be up here somewhere. It has a camper on the back.”

  “I don’t think so,” Officer Green said.

  John was sure he was cursed. He saw the camper first, the beat up covering looked as if it were more rust than anything else. There was faded green paint on the truck and it wasn’t much to look at. He felt the keys press against his thigh from inside his pocket. The side street was crawling with the dead, but the sidewalk closest to the truck was clear.

  “I can get out here.”

  “Are you deaf?” Officer Green asked. “You’ll get out when I say you can get out.” His head snapped toward the window and jerked back toward John awkwardly. He smiled, revealing a row of teeth covered in grit and blood. He aimed his pistol at John and closed his lips over his teeth. “Zombie meat doesn’t taste so good,” he said. “I’ve tried it.”

  “You were bitten,” John said.

  “Sure was, but I managed to keep the old heart beating.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I reckon I’m too damn strong to be taken down like these morons.”

  “You’re going to turn in to one of those morons.”

  Officer Green scowled like a hungry animal. “The hell you say.” He popped John in the mouth with the pistol.

  John’s vision blurred as the heat and pain of the strike filled his face. He tried to react, but another hit sent him into unconsciousness.

  #

  John blinked twice then tried to cover his eyes from the last of the sunlight. He discovered that his hands would not participate and in fact, he could not move his legs either. His hands were bound and the fingers on his left hand were numb. He opened his eyes and realized he was lying on the ground. The police car was parked on one side of him and the exterior of a building was on his other side.

  “Look who woke up.” John heard the voice, but it took him a second to remember who it belonged to. Officer Green leaned his face down close. “You still worried about me?”

  “Where the hell am I?” John asked.

  “I don’t think you’re in any particular position to ask questions.” Officer Green stepped over John and reached into the police car through the driver’s side window. He pulled out a boot knife then scanned the area beyond the car. “You were right about one thing,” He looked back at John. “I’m changing.”

  John looked toward his feet and saw buildings in the distance. They were somewhere in town, but it was impossible to tell where. There were several walking dead beyond the car, all moving in their direction.

  “Thing is, it doesn’t bother me,” Officer Green said, then raised his .45 and fired. “I don’t mind so much.” He fired again. “When the world goes to crap, I’ll be the one left standing.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” John asked. “You’re infected and it’s only a matter of time before you end up like them.” He tried to roll over and get his hands underneath his butt. Officer Green kicked him in the ribs; he curled up into a ball as the pain in his side nearly made him throw up.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, boy. I’m going to be the first of a new breed.” He coughed then hunched over as he gagged. After a few violent spasms, he spit out a wad of blood and brown puss.

  John kept his knees close to his chest as he tried to protect his side from another kick. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Officer Green wiped the blood off his lips with his shirtsleeve, and then got down on a knee near John’s face. “That’s easy; I’m going to eat you.”

  “What the hell?” John pulled himself up onto his knees, pushing off the ground with his hands. “I thought you weren’t one of them?”

  “I’m not,” Officer Green said, and then shot an approaching walking corpse in the face. “They’re mindless creatures. Me, I know what I’m doing. Now get back down on the ground or I’ll slit your throat like a pig.”

  He pushed John over with the heel of his foot before he had a chance to comply. John landed on his back with his hands firmly stuck behind him. Officer Green stood over him and John made a quick decision for one last stand.

  “I like it rare,” Officer Green said as he slid the .45 in his hip holster and pulled a knife from his belt.

  John brought his knees up as hard as he could manage. The move caught Officer Green off guard, smacking him square in the groin. He leaned forward as his breath rushed out of him from the impact. John lifted his back off the ground and caught Officer Green on the nose with a head butt. He fell back as John rolled over on to his side then up on his knees.

  John tugged at the binds on his wrist and felt them come loose. Officer Green rolled over on his back and moaned as blood ran down his face from his nose. He reached for his pistol and John kneed him in the gut, nearly losing his balance in the process. Officer Green rolled over several times until he slammed into the side of the building. His .45 fell out of the holster and lay in the grass mid-way between the building and the police car.

  A quick scan told John they were a few blocks from Main Street and south of the apartment building where he’d left Matt. He pulled his hands apart as hard as he could, but the binds wouldn’t give. Officer Green struggled to move as blood gushed down his face. There was movement on the street in both directions, but John didn’t need to look to know what was coming. He wanted to get free, kill Officer Green if he could, then take the police car for himself. The first step in his newfound plan came to fruition when the binds on his wrists gave way and his hands were free. He reached for the .45 as Officer Green rolled toward it.

  Their hands reached the gun at the same time. John smashed the heel of his boot on Officer Green’s forearm. Officer Green screamed in pain as the bones in his arm cracked under the pressure. He grabbed a hold of John’s boot with his free hand and pulled with his remain
ing strength. John lost his balance as soon as his knee buckled and the end result was both men lying on the ground wrestling over control of the gun. The one good arm of Officer Green was no match for John and the upper hand was lost. John pulled the gun away and staggered to get to his feet.

  In both directions, the dead were on the move, all heading toward John. Several undead were close, having pulled themselves out of nearby cars and buildings. In a panic, John fired six rounds, only two finding their mark. He gnashed his teeth when he pulled the trigger and the gun stopped firing.

  “Stupid ass,” Officer Green said.

  John reached in the window of the police car and felt for the keys. He found an empty slot and reached further toward the passenger side, grabbing his shotgun. He aimed it first at Officer Green, which managed to wipe the smile off his face, but John had to focus on more immediate threats. The dead had found them and they were closing in from all sides.

  Two figures walked around the trunk of the police car and staggered toward John. Both walking corpses wore the blood soaked remains of suits. One was split open at the stomach, his guts hanging out like shirttails bouncing against his legs as he walked. The other was missing his lower jaw. His swollen tongue dangled down below the torn skin, tapping against his neck.

  “Give me the damn keys,” John demanded.

  Officer Green was already up on his knees, cradling his arm with his good hand. “Go to hell. You broke my arm.”

  John aimed his shotgun, zeroing in on the jawless corps. He pulled the trigger and the blast blew its head clean off. The body dropped to the ground and John turned his aim on the disemboweled. Another trigger pull and the dead ceased to move. “I’ve got one round left,” he said, turning to Officer Green as he got to his feet. “Either you give me the keys or I’ll blow your head off and take them.”

  “You’re going to use your last round on me?” he asked with a smile.

  “If I have to.”

  “I don’t believe you, boy,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll waste your last shot on a car that doesn’t run.” He took two long strides toward John.