Four (Their Dead Lives,1)

by Scott, Zack

  After staring for longer than it should have, a zombie finally noticed Jennings. It had no ears but its eyes were direct. “You can’t chew on me!” the private screamed as he popped a bullet in its head. “You can’t have me!” He drew their attention and they stormed for him faster than the rain. Hands shoved through the window. Nails sliced open his flesh. As he thought about his mom, as he popped the pin off the grenade, as he realized this was the end of his action movie, he had to give his famous final line. And so Pvt. Greg Jennings shoved the grenade deep in the horde yelling, “Chew on—”

  His last words went unheard.

  EVANS

  Their feet flew off sand landing on wet wood.

  Waves crashed, water splashing everywhere. They traveled only a few yards on the rocking dock before the truck ignited in flames behind them. Evans slid to a stop, grabbing Erica’s wrist.

  No. Deserting his fellow VTF brought back terrors from his final mission with the Marines. But this time I had to leave them. It was an order.

  Erica tugged at him a couple times. “We have to keep moving!”

  Evans looked at her. Her beauty was still alive.

  “They’re dead! Let’s go.”

  A sacrifice must mean something. Orders must be carried out. Sampson ordered me to save her. I will not fail him. She must survive. So they ran, slipping across the dock, dodging waves and sprinting past rocking boats. He was surprised most of the yachts were still here. No warning, no escaping?

  As if the dock weren’t hard enough to navigate already, a group of stumbling undead blocked their path. Evans slid to another stop, equipping his pistol at the same time. He took out the first two crew members with clean head shots. A wave smashed against the dock, stealing his aim. When he regained a firing position, he realized the other zombies weren’t stumblers, and they sprinted right for him and Erica.

  “Shoot them!” she cried.

  He ignored her, lined his sights. Two quick pulls. The brains of both the crew members ejected from the back of their heads. He turned, grabbed Erica and only paused for a brief second as he saw the remaining horde rush on the docks from the beach. The remaining horde that killed his team. The remaining horde that would do the same to him.

  Get at me, I’ll eat you first.

  Thirty feet away from death, Erica and Evans ran. The storm strengthened. Larger waves struck the rocking dock while cold rain shot at their faces by striking wind. But they ran.

  Until she lost her balance.

  Erica slipped right from his grip and somehow he tripped over her, flying forward, face smashing on the dock. He slid and clawed, and his fingers bled to slow his body. The edge! Just as he flew off the dock to be engulfed by the sea, something, someone, grabbed his boot. He had enough strength to shove himself back on the dock and he flipped over to see Erica heaving above him. His savior. H-how?

  A wave crashed.

  He crawled back to the middle of the dock and stood over her. Using one finger, he wiped drenched hair covering her face, touched her cheek.

  A wave crashed.

  They locked eyes for a moment that couldn’t last. The sprinters from the beach? Twenty feet away. This time, Erica grabbed Evans and they rushed away as he fired three shots back.

  A wave crashed.

  Erica was struck from the side, slammed Evans’ jaw, forced them both to the floor. Erica slid on her back toward the edge, reaching out for him, screaming for him, just as she went crashing into the sea.

  “No!” Evans dove head first, his fingertips grazed her ankle, but he grabbed only air. Hanging over the edge, frozen, Evans stared at the dark sea.

  Moans and footsteps closed in on him but he couldn’t leave her. My last order, I will not fail at this.

  Roaring, Evans rolled on his side and unloaded most of his clip as the zombies neared. A few rotting corpses teetered off the dock, while too many others kept their pursuit.

  Rolling back to the ocean, Evans reached in. Waves slapped his face. A hand broke the surface, snagging Evans’ wrist. He heaved to his feet and yanked Erica back on the dock with one tug. Thank you for being so light. Her body shivered against his and her lips shook the words, “We have to keep moving.”

  Evans glanced at the sprinters closing in on them. A wave dragged a few more into the sea.

  Erica’s body went weak and limp against him. He said, “We have to go!” But she seemed ready to pass out. He needed her alert, so he grabbed her head, wrapped his fingers through her drenched hair, and with his other arm outstretched, he aimed his pistol steadily, firing at the incoming sprinters.

  Blocking out the storm, the bullets, and the onrushing undead, Evans pressed his lips to Erica, and the world stilled as they stood in the eye of the storm. If only forever. The kiss seemingly helped Erica focus.

  Feet slipped, moans swarmed, waves crashed, and then he finally saw it: the yacht at the end of the dock. Erica’s hand tightened around his, taut with hope. They glanced at one another and her wet lips parted into a beaming smile.

  A strong urge gave him the desire to kiss—

  The largest wave of them all rose high above the dock, then washed the yacht from their eyes.

  SCOT

  Scot’s body was made of light, hovering in a blinding room, floating over a plain of white. With a hand out, he hoped to grab something, anything. Nothing, until his pale hand vanished, seeping in a white wall not much whiter than his own skin. Warmth drenched his flesh. He cocked his head back. “What the hell?”

  Below him was only light, and he wondered if he was dead. Heaven? Scot yanked his hand out of the wall and instead of being drenched in white, black ooze stained his flesh. It dropped to the ground, forming a dark puddle beneath his feet. The ooze crawled around his hand, tightening, sliding its way down his wrist. He flung his fingers around, shaking, fighting, screaming, “Get off me!”

  The black below him expanded, big enough to suck him through if it so pleased. And it did. Scot hovered no more, sank like a rock in the puddle. He pushed to stand but sank more. Oozing tentacles crawled up his body, stuck to his face, and yanked him down. He kicked and screamed and flailed...

  Everything paused, and there was silence so a whisper could be heard. It crawled into his ear, “You’re mine now.”

  The black ooze released Scot and slithered its way across the white plain. It latched on another wall and formed a black door.

  “Is that you, Satan?” Scot called out, flipping around to stare at the newly created portal.

  “Come closer.”

  “Hell no!” Scot scrambled away, panicking.

  “But I need you, Scotty. And you want me.” The voice went from a menacing whisper to a sensual female voice. How he loved sensual female voices.

  “Who the hell are you?” Scot’s back pressed against a white wall and a deafening thud bounced across the room. He grabbed his ears and fell to his knees. The ground trembled, sending vibrations through his body. He squinted at the door.

  A voice blasted from within, “Come to me!”

  Scot gulped, and for some reason, his feet moved toward the door. He had no control. Run, idiot, run! But he couldn’t. He was soon floating, moving, touching the portal’s edge. He resisted the compulsion to enter, fighting the whispers, recognizing the voice. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Only silence from the black door.

  He took another step forward. “It was you that day in the well, I know. I will always know because you screwed my life. You did all this to me!”

  Silence returned.

  “You know what you did to me? Show yourself, damn it!”

  “With pleasure.” A massive oozing tentacle shot out the door and wrapped itself around Scot’s waist, and before he could move, it constricted so tightly his bones snapped. As he was yanked to the dark, the whisper from his past flushed through his body.

  “Welcome back, Scotty.”

  Scot woke again, this time drowning in black. Whispers surrounded him, bombarding him
from every direction. He grabbed his ears and twisted his body but was restrained, pressured down by the dark. “Where are you?”

  The whispers grew louder. Untranslatable, they burrowed into his skull and lodged into his brain.

  “Get out of my head!”

  The whispers shouted, “Scot! Scot! Scot!”

  He was falling, smashed from the sides.

  “Scot! Scot! Scot!”

  His arms and legs outstretched as he tried to swim, swim for the light above, but the darkness wanted him more, pulling him in every direction. His limbs were ripped away and his heart sank. He knew he was being dragged to hell and the whispers cheered, “Scot!”

  “We leave as four, we leave as four,” his trembling lips spilled into the darkness. “We leave as four, we leave as four.”

  “Scot! Scot! Sco—”

  “Scot!”

  He jolted awake. Sweat was pouring down his face. He scrambled on the tile floor, kicking a shelf, knocking over a display of potato chips. She grabbed him, and her voice sent a calming wave through his bones. Her green eyes shone, and to him the sight was heaven. Kelsey, my love. The trembles in his body slowed and his heart went to rest. His arms struck around her, pressing against her back, and he embraced her. They were on the floor, legs intertwined. He hugged her tightly. “I’m alive.”

  Kelsey pulled away slightly, only giving him a few pats on the back, withholding a full embrace. But she did give him a quick kiss on the top of his head before pulling away. “You’re finally awake.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it.” Scot still trembled. Her green gaze eyed him closely. “What happened? Where am I?”

  She leaned against a fridge. Packs of beer were stacked right behind her. I’d be crazy to drink now. “Homer found you. He brought you to us. I thought you were dead.”

  “You should see the other guy,” Scot quipped and he broke eye contact with her green sparkle. “Where’s Jeff now?”

  The food mart was quiet, even though Sadie spoke with some teenager near the bathroom. An old man stood guard at the glass doors. The morning had arrived, and an orange glare grew across white tiles.

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. He left last night to help Alec and the others. He hasn’t come back. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He tried to comfort her.

  She shrugged away his words. “I could’ve stopped him.”

  Scot grabbed Kelsey’s elbow and forced her to look at him. “I don’t remember anything after leaving the bar, but I know this: Jeff can handle himself.”

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  “I remember getting the crap beaten out of me by Kale and then Angela drove me...wait, where’s Angie?”

  Kelsey turned to the side, lips pressed tight. “She—”

  Then he remembered. He remembered her plaintive screams, her efforts to reach him, and her dead mangled flesh below the tree. “It’s okay, I know.”

  “How can you be so reserved? Your girlfriend died yesterday.”

  “Only yesterday?” He cast a smile her way.

  “That’s what you say? At a time like this? Angela is dead. You can feel sad about it, Scot.”

  His response was quick. “What good would that do?”

  “It’s not about doing something.”

  “So then what’s it about?”

  Kelsey stood, her legs breaking contact with his. “You weren’t always like this. You weren’t always so cold, so dead inside.”

  Ouch. “You don’t understand. I wish I could—”

  She interrupted him. “I’ll tell you what I understand, Scot,” she said, her back straight. “You can feel sorry for yourself. You can understand what you want to understand. But, the fact is, —the fact is what you want to feel or understand, does not mean you can shut everyone else out. That’s not fair. That’s being a selfish prick.”

  Some welcome back this is. He tried to be patient but patience was for assholes. “What do you want me to say, Kelsey? What do you want me to do? I leave a reunion with my friends. My supposed friends. I don’t remember anything. I’m told my girlfriend is dead. I wake to the love of my life. A love I lost and never thought I’d get back. Tell me what to say. Tell me what to believe, because honestly, I’m lost.”

  Her green eyes were as hard as stone. “So am I.”

  Infinite space flooded between them, separating blue eyes from green, touch from touch, warmth from warmth.

  Scot stood, hobbling on his injured leg, and Kelsey grabbed him. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m thankful you’re okay. Who’s left? Who else is here?”

  It was not long before the others came over to join them; after all, their voices had been raised, verging on the edge of a fight. Sadie walked with a teenager they had found hours earlier. He’d come alone, unscathed, wielding a bloodied baseball bat.

  C.J. was his name.

  Sadie said few words of greeting to Scot. She hates me. Though, it might’ve been his imagination, but her golden eyes did glow with some relief after seeing him. She reminded him of Katy Perry, only more goth. He would never tell her that though, for fear of her hexing him. I’m already cursed.

  The old man — the hero — was an Arab named Nasir. He too said few words, instead concentrating his attention on guarding the door. But he asked Scot to come to the roof and he obliged. I want to give Kelsey space to breathe. So much tension already. Perhaps I should stay quiet for a while. They went out the back door after Nasir checked the area was clear. Scot wasn’t sure of the man’s age, but he had graying curly hair and a wrinkled face. Despite these indicators of age, he was in great shape, and had no problem clambering up a ladder to the roof of the food mart.

  The sun burned Scot’s blue eyes, and they were already extremely dry from his contact lenses. Please let there be solution downstairs.

  “How is your leg?” Nasir asked him, indicating the bandages.

  Scot hadn’t even noticed the towels taped around his thigh. They were soaked with blood. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “It seems so. You had no problem climbing up here.” Nasir placed his sniper rifle on the floor and bent to yank Scot’s poorly constructed bandage off. There was a large tear in his jeans and some blood stains but all that was left of the deep wound? A slight scar.

  “How?” Nasir looked up at him, his eyebrow raised.

  “I have no idea.” Yes, you do.

  “You’re very lucky,” he remarked and rose. “Come.”

  They stood at the edge of the roof. Below them, by the pumps, lay dead bodies. A blood trail wound around a Jeep. The old man said nothing, so Scot, tired of waiting, broke the silence. “Why did you bring me up here?”

  “I brought you up here for one reason and one reason only.”

  Silence.

  “And?” Scot prompted.

  “Do you think people have predetermined courses?”

  “What? Like destiny?”

  “Yes, like destiny.”

  “Well,” he said, mulling this over. “No. I think we make our own choices and luck determines our lives.”

  “Yes, I thought the same.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “Do you want to know what I did, before last night?”

  “You ran a food mart.”

  Nasir was not pleased with that response. “Why? Because I’m from Saudi Arabia?”

  Scot fumbled. “I, uh, uh—”

  “No, this place is not mine.”

  “So then what’s the deal?”

  Nasir gave him a long measuring stare, then clicked his tongue. “Let’s go back down.” He walked away.

  “Wait,” Scot demanded and reached for him. “Why the hell did you bring me up here?”

  Nasir stared at the hand latched around his arm and then gazed coldly at Scot, who quickly released his grip.

  What the hell just happened? The old man had left Scot with more questions than answers. Maybe no answers are better than bad answers.
/>   Alone once again, Scot stood on the roof overlooking the town he’d once loved. He used to miss this place, but tragedy had killed those feelings, while time had sent them beneath dirt. Things can never be the same as they once were. Blacking out the world, he let the sun’s warmth grace his skin and he shut his eyes, accepting the bad days ahead, for the good ones no longer existed, buried in the graves where the dead once lay.

  Green Hills had become a cemetery.

  episode three

  FIGHT THE PAST

  KALE

  No cuffs on his wrists. Freedom.

  Fresh salt, air free of decay, sparkles across the ocean surface; the world was not an apocalypse at that moment, and Kale embraced it. He stood at the yacht aft, arms outstretched, wind rippling his dark green shirt. Ocean spray blessed his face every so often.

  “You’re not on the Titanic,” Howard interrupted him, standing in his suit, or what was left of it. Part of his dress shirt hung untucked, stained with blood. His tie swung loose, his slacks were ripped, and his hair was still as greasy as ever. A slight crack had crawled across one of the lenses in his glasses.

  Titanic. Although Howard bugged him at times, Kale grabbed his friend’s shoulder, happy to see him. “We made it.”

  Howard snorted. “Yeah, well, we can’t stay out at sea forever.”

  True, but it was too soon to bother Kale’s mind.

  “When we get back to land, know what we’re going to do? Load up on guns, ammo, beef jerky and start blasting some zombie fools.” It was good to have Howard back from his drunken incapacitation. He was naïve, dumb even, but he brought some lightness to this whole mess and Kale appreciated that. After all, there wasn’t really anyone else to talk to.

  Alec had secluded himself with Nicole, mourning the loss of his brother. Jeff was unconscious. The two doctors who owned the yacht were busy with their nephew, Evans.

  Erica was...somewhere.

  As for Deputy Jimmy Miller, well, Kale never gave a shit about that guy.