The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance

by Ray, Timothy A.

  Someone was screaming, and it took a second for him to realize it was him.

  The flames went out, the nozzle nothing more than blackened steel, and hot to the touch. He dropped it and brought his gun around with his unsteady left hand. He would switch to his right, but that hand was feeling raw and overheated, like it had been soaked in a pan full of boiling water.

  He saw the real reason the pump had cut off, John was standing next to the red button on the walkway, the emergency shut off activated, the group of corpses at his feet still wiggling but unable to get to their feet.

  “God that smells,” Ros said, stepping carefully from the store, sword in hand. She held an arm over her nose as she used her sword to start piercing the heads of the still writhing undead.

  Matt had shouldered his rifle and had taken out his handgun, aiming the muzzle at the head of a middle-aged man with a gut and pulling the trigger.

  Ros gave Matt a dirty look.

  “What?” the tall man asked, unsure of what he was doing wrong.

  “Use your damn knife.”

  “It’s not like we can draw any more to us than we already have; we weren’t exactly quiet just now. If they aren’t here, then they are out of range of hearing. What’s the point of suddenly being mindful of noise now?” Matt returned.

  He smiled. If it hadn’t been the end of the world, he might have allowed himself to befriend them; they were his kind of people.

  John had approached while he had been distracted by the couple’s argument. His hand falling on his shoulder and giving him a start. “Quick thinking. Thought you bailed on us. Glad you didn’t. We were running short on ammo.”

  He brushed it off like it was nothing, his hand stinging as the feeling began to come back to it. “I couldn’t very well leave you all to die. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  John saw the wince and moments later had taken his hand within his own to inspect it. “I have a first aid kit in the back of my car. Let’s put some ointment on these burns and wrap it up. You’ll have to redress it when you get where you are going, but getting an infection, letting things like this go due to pride, is a very dangerous thing to do right now. There are no hospitals to save you if things go wrong.”

  He nodded and allowed himself to be led towards the back of the squad car. “Never did get a ride in one of these things. I realize that’s a good thing, but still, that bad boy part of you wants to atleast try it once.”

  “Well, if we make it through all of this, I’ll cart you around for free. Will even book you for some random nonsensical crime if it’ll make you feel better,” the Sheriff responded, using his keys to unlock the trunk and tossing it open. “Good thing the car didn’t go up, all my spare ammo is back here. Would have been an even nastier bang and I would have to start using a hammer or a club to defend myself. Would really hate to do that.”

  “No nightstick?”

  “Nah, we gave that up for mace. Don’t think that’ll work, do you? Or the taser for that matter. Fire though, that seems to do quite nicely. What made you think of that?” John asked, opening the white Fist Aid kit and taking out a tube of ointment, more than likely Neosporin.

  “I don’t know. Robocop, Ghost Rider, something like that. Figured I had an equal chance of blowing myself up or getting eaten by flaming corpses. Still, better than shooting one of you by accident or getting eaten on a convenience store floor next to the twinkies and cream puffs,” he answered, gritting his teeth as John smoothed the gel over his singed skin. It was red, there were a couple of blisters, but he looked largely intact, if only a bit stiff.

  A hand slapped him upside the back of his head.

  “Ow?” he stuttered, shaking his head, his right-hand twitching upward in response.

  “Rosilynn, really? I’m trying to bandage his hand here,” John shot at the scowling woman, applying pressure to his hand and forcing it to remain there.

  “You have any idea how reckless that was? You might have blown up our bikes!” Ros scolded, preparing to hit him again.

  He shied away from it. “I was thinking of the undead zombies trying to eat you, I didn’t stop to consider what came after.”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  “You’re concerned with the bikes?” John asked with a raised eyebrow. “And here I thought I was getting somewhere with these folks. Guess I know my place.”

  Ros broke into laughter. “Hey, you started it by throwing our gear at us and telling us to beat it, remember? Seriously though, that was reckless as fuck. You could have set fire to the cars, to yourself, hell, the propane tanks in that cage over there. Not to mention taking a bullet from friendly fire because none of us knew where you went or why.”

  “You’d have talked me out of it,” he replied with a small voice, as if a scolded child.

  “Damn right she would’ve. Still, got to give you props, that was cool,” Matt said, stepping to the side of the cruiser and looking at his hand. “Could be worse, you could have melted the damned thing off. Not everything works like you see in the movies.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he snarked, then grinned.

  John was putting the last of the rolled gauze around his injured wrist, and he flexed it experimentally, wincing at the pain that slithered up his arm as he did so. “It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “It’ll be fine, thank you. Like the man said, it could have been worse,” he grinned, forcing a cheerful outlook. “Well, we should probably hit the road before more of them show up. Matt was probably right, if they were coming, they’d already be here, but you never know for sure.”

  Ros nodded, “we should leave, yes. We have a couple of friends to check on and we’ve already been held up long enough already. Listen, we’ve got a place hidden in the woods. It’s well protected, well provisioned, and built to last through this kind of thing. You can always come with us, we could use the bravery, if not the stupidity. Seem to have enough of that already,” she chuckled, nudging the man at her side.

  Matt rolled his eyes, “you can’t keep on inviting strays home. We may start to run out of cat food.”

  “We’ve got plenty, and you know it. Not to mention, we’re a few people short right now. I should check with the others, but I’m sure they’d agree and understand. I feel like I owe you one,” Ros told him, giving him a genuine smile.

  He took a moment, then sighed, “I can’t. I appreciate it, but my family is waiting for me in Show Low. It’s taken me long enough to get there already. I can’t leave them behind, they are the world to me.”

  John grabbed a box of shotgun shells, then shut the trunk of his car. “That is something I can understand. You should get to them, protect them in any way you can. If enough of us can come together and help each other out, we might all just get through this.”

  Ros pursed her lips, then went to the passenger door of the squad car and ducked inside. Seconds later, she came back with the man’s ticket pad, a pen in hand. “Here’s my number. Our place is in the woods, off the one-ninety-one between Alpine and Morenci. Once you get to your family, pack them up and head there. Call when you get near and I’ll lead you in. We should be there by then. If the phones are out, here are the GPS coordinates. Put it in your phone and screenshot the location, so you can use it later.”

  He took the offered paper with his left hand. “I appreciate it. I can’t promise anything, my wife might not want to leave, but if I can convince her, we will come. Thank you.”

  Ros shrugged it off, looked up at Matt, then gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to Springerville and get this over with. The sooner we are back at the Compound the better. Good luck—”

  “Kyle,” he supplied with a smile.

  “Damn girl, giving out your number without even knowing the man’s name? What would your husband think?” Matt teased, kissing the woman on the forehead.

  “I don’t know, but if you can find him, you can ask him,” she snarked back.


  “Ouch,” John supplied, moving around to the driver’s door. “Take her up on it. The more of us that band together the better off our chances for survival. I’ve never been to this place, but if it’s even half as good as they say, it’ll be worth it.”

  “I will,” he answered, pocketing the ticket in his front pocket and giving the man a friendly wave. Then he began walking back to the open driver’s door of the SUV as the three vehicles fired up their engines and began pulling onto the highway.

  He didn’t know if he’d end up doing it, but it was something to think about at least. Though, his wife had the last word on that, so who knew for sure? Getting into the driver seat, he turned the engine over, looked at the scorched corpses on the road to his right, then dismissed it all from his mind as he shifted into drive and got back on the road.

  Chapter 13

  I

  The forest had begun to encroach on all sides, the air beginning to cool as the elevation began to change and his ears kept pressurizing as he worked his jaw to clear his hearing.

  He couldn’t help but consider the woman’s offer, it would be insane not to considering the current condition of the world around him. He had just met them, he had no reason to think he could trust them, yet he knew somehow that he could. Maybe it was the battle they’d survived together, maybe it was the comradery, maybe it didn’t even matter. He trusted that what was offered was genuine and he saw the draw of taking them up on it, but he wasn’t the only one involved and would not make a decision without first consulting his wife. Within half an hour he’d finally be able to talk to her without the use of his cell phone; it could wait til then.

  When the Sheriff had gotten ammo out of his trunk, he should’ve asked if he had some for his gun as well. Firing at that horde had used what little he had, the boy that had given it to him had not thrown in a box of shells as well. He would pass by the Wal-Mart on the way to the cabin, it was a long shot, but they might have some shells left that he could use. It was worth a look anyways. He could grab what supplies he could find as well, knowing in his heart that this was not going to be over any time soon. If you planned for the worst, you were better prepared should it rear its ugly head than if you just sat around hoping for things to work out for the best.

  Stopping would be hard, especially now that he was so close to home, but having a gun without bullets just made it a useless hunk of metal with no purpose. He picked up his phone and called his wife.

  No answer.

  “Okay, what the fuck?”

  He tried not to think the worse, but his foot pressed down on the accelerator anyways. Maybe Wal-Mart could wait. There was no way he could stop if she wasn’t picking up the phone. He could go out for supplies later, his family’s safety was the true priority.

  His phone rang, giving him a start, his mind having gone down the dark roads of despair and not registering the sound for what it was other than an alien noise in the fog. Then his mind cleared, and he hit the answer button, his wife’s voice gratefully sounding all right, if a little out of breath.

  “Sorry, had to pee.”

  “It’s a cellphone, it’s portable,” he told her, trying to get his heart to settle down. “You have any idea what that just did to me?”

  “I know, that’s why I called back right away. Sorry,” his wife said, breathing rapidly. “I just got wrapped up keeping my mind occupied, trying to not think of where you were or what you might be going through. I take it that you’re okay though?”

  Now it’s my fault she didn’t take the phone with her, he inwardly sighed.

  “Yeah, just got held up getting gas in Holbrook. Made some new friends, but we can talk about that later. Look, I got a gun but I’m out of bullets. I would feel better if I stopped at the Wal-Mart and grabbed some. Do you remember if the Sporting Goods section was still intact, or had it been emptied out?” he asked curiously. She had gotten a rifle while she’d been there, who knew what else might have been lying around.

  “I think so. When are you going to be there? Are you coming here first?”

  “Makes more sense to do it on the way. Grab some extra groceries while I’m at it. I’m about half an hour out,” he told her, seeing the signs for Snowflake fast approaching on his right.

  “Tell you what, I’ll rouse the kids and meet you there.”

  “No you won’t,” he corrected her, shaking his head like she could see him doing it. “I want you to keep the kids there, keep your head down, and wait for me to get there. I’m like thirty miles out, Babe.”

  “I need something to do, I’m going stir-crazy here. I’ll get the kids and I’ll meet you at the Wal-Mart,” Carrie said, then the line disconnected.

  Did she just hang up on me?

  He tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail.

  “Fuck!” he hollered, banging his hands on the steering wheel. After all that he had been through, all the things he’d seen, she was still acting like the damned world was just going a little crazy, like monsoon season overflooding a roadway and needing sandbags kind of shit. She didn’t seem to grasp the horrors that were waiting for them, nor how ruthless the world had become. She was going to get herself, and his kids, killed. And for what? So she could feel normal for a few hours? How was that worth the risk?

  The third time, he decided to leave a message. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to stop. Stay there. I will skip Wal-Mart and go straight home. I don’t want you, or my kids, out in this shit, okay? You have no idea what it’s been like and you’ve been lucky so far that you haven’t had to deal with it. Let’s not invite more trouble—.”

  It cut him off.

  “God fucking dammit!” he hollered, tossing his phone on the passenger seat. Why couldn’t she ever listen to him? Why did she just ignore what he said, as if he didn’t know a damned thing and was just making up excuses to vex her?

  “Carrie, I swear to God—,” he trailed off, shaking his head.

  His right hand began to throb, not appreciative over his banging it on the steering wheel. He needed some Tylenol, or better yet, a bottle of whiskey. There may be a few boxes of bullets laying around untouched, but he doubted very much that the liquor had been left behind. There were plenty of rednecks in these woods that would be drinking their way through this shit, and he was quite sure not a single bottle had survived the early looting.

  He’d seen a lot of beer runs in his life, having worked at a grocery store for a few years, and could mentally see the same people walking in and out, two thirty packs at a time, until their truck was filled to the point of falling out the back or off the hood. Then they’d drive home, drop it off, and come back for more. They wouldn’t look for bullets, they wouldn’t even think to grab toilet paper. It was all about that Bud-fucking-Weiser.

  Get those fucking frogs to croak that shit.

  He laughed, bleeding off a little pressure, his mind trying to be distracted but all he kept seeing was his wife and kids getting ripped apart by a bunch of deaders. Safe or not, he floored the gas and sped down the highway, wanting to get to the Wal-Mart before his wife, but fearing he’d be too late.

  II

  The Wal-Mart parking lot was nearly devoid of life. There were a few people walking to their vehicles, but the usual overflowing line of cars was gone, indicating that there might not be much left inside to take. He saw his wife’s Dodge Caravan parked in the handicapped spot and for a brief moment, cursed her choice of parking places. Then, he realized that none of that shit mattered anymore and parked next to her.

  Because, why the hell not?

  He grabbed the gun off the seat next to him and got out, his hand cupping his eyes to see through the tinted windows, cursing as he realized that no one was inside. She hadn’t waited for him, despite his warnings. Damned woman was suicidal.

  Slamming his car door, he walked around the back of the mini-van and took a long hard look at the store’s exterior. The garden area looked intact, not many
people had raided the plants that were hanging from the wired fences inside, but the Pepsi machine had been broken into by the front doors, a few broken cans lying discarded on the sidewalk before it. If they had taken the time to do that, that meant there probably wasn’t much left of them inside either. Otherwise, why bother?

  Looked like he was going to be detoxing on caffeine soon, probably nicotine not long after that. Now, that’s a commercial they should do. Why worry about lung cancer when the dead will rise and eat you before you get there? Marlboro, the brand of the apocalypse.

  He almost didn’t step forward, not wanting to see what was waiting inside. It was like Schrodinger’s cat. Until he walked through that door, his family was safe, all was well, but once he did, whatever was would then become his reality.

  Taking the first step was the hardest, but once he got moving, he was fine, able to push past it by sheer force of will.

  An older woman was coming out the front door pushing a cart full of housewares. He saw a coffee maker and a bunch of Precious Moments—what kind of sense did that make? Who the fuck cared about that ceramic shit now? “You know, no one is going to be grinding beans or creating coffee filters for quite some time. I hope you’re stocked up,” he snarked, unable to help himself.

  The gray-haired woman glared at him, then shuffled away quickly, like he had been a homeless man begging for change.

  “Yeah, good luck surviving this with Folgers and little glass children to protect you!” he hollered, then stepped inside. He didn’t know what triggered the spitefulness in his tone; it had to be the tension created by his wife’s refusal to stay home rather than meet him here.

  Or that woman’s stupidity.