by Dean James
“I…what was I…” I started.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he interrupted. “You did the right thing. That guy would only keep doing what he was doing. You did the world a favor. It was just and right, so it was easier to accept.”
“What happened in there,” he thumbed towards the house. “I’ve seen that look before. You were struggling. You were deciding whether a living person should live or die by your hands. You lost it. Abby just helped you make the decision to not be a killer.”
“What if I did pull it though?” I asked.
“Then you would have made the wrong decision. You would have killed an unarmed man, and I don’t know if you could live with that.”
“Now you sound like Abby,” I said.
“Well, she’s a smart woman,” he laughed. “Look, I don’t know whether or not you should have your weapon back. So I have to ask you, will you make the right decision again?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said as I stood. “I don’t want to be that person, but I really don’t know.”
“Good answer,” he said. “If you would’ve said yes, I wouldn’t give this back, because I know you’d be lying.” He reached under his coat and pulled my Glock from his belt.
I was very reluctant to take the pistol from him. It felt like I was again accepting the world for what it had become. Just weeks before, life meant choosing which Disney movies Katie wanted to watch, or what mutual fund I should stick with for my retirement plan. Since the outbreak though, life had become so dangerous that a deadly weapon was now a part of daily life. It also meant that I would have the means to protect my family.
I took the gun and slipped it into the empty holster at my side.
“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s head back,” he said, patting me on my shoulder. I winced as sharp pain shot through my chest.
“Suck it up and walk it off ya slacker,” he shrugged. “We got work to do.”
We trudged through the snow, again avoiding the traps on our way back to the driveway. The scant sunlight had finally been swallowed up by the dreary overcast skies. The wind had completely died, no pun intended. The smell had returned, either from the creatures we had just killed, or from the entire world dying around us.
“The smell!”
“What about it?” Chris looked over his shoulder at me.
“Why didn’t I go half blind after knocking that zombie’s brains out? We stood there long enough for it to affect both of us.”
“No idea. It hasn’t bothered anyone for a few days now. Rosa thinks we might have built up a tolerance. I still don’t like the word zombie, though,” Chris said as we continued our trek back towards the barn.
“What else would they be?” I asked.
“Zed works for me,” he replied.
“We know they’re dead, and they are walking around trying to eat us. We shoot them in the head, and they die. What else would they be?” I asked again.
“What would happen if I shoot you in the head?” he smiled.
“I’d haunt your ass for being a dick!”
“That is a terrifying thought,” he laughed.
“More terrifying than clowns?”
His laughter immediately ceased. Chris has an unnatural fear of clowns. Now, I’m not saying clowns aren’t freakier than shit. But Chris was sent into a near panic and fled to the basement the day a certain unnamed brother sent a singing clown telegram to his house for his birthday. He never did figure out who sent such a well thought out gift. Seeing that he was heavily armed, I didn’t think the moment was right to tell him.
“No, clowns are worse. Fuck clowns,” he said, turning away from me.
“You know, somewhere out there in the world, there is a thriving colony of undead clowns.”
“Fuck clowns, and fuck you!” he shot back.
“I wonder what a zombie clown would look like. I mean, does the make-up stay on, or just slide off the face over time. What about the noses and goofy hair?” I continued to needle him.
“Okay, you know what?” he spun around. “When you were asleep and I was on watch, I put a spider on your face and took a picture!” He turned and walked away.
“Wait! What!?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Icy winds cut through Adam as he trudged across the empty corn field. The ground crumbled under his feet as he walked past the frozen stalks rising through the snowy blanket. The heavy duffle bag slung across his shoulder clanged loudly as hastily packed cans of food bounced against his back. A rusty crowbar tucked into his belt slapped against his thigh, turning the front of his green pants dull orange. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his chest burning from exertion.
He left the house after Abby had come back inside. While no one was looking, he stole as much food as he could carry and made for the field behind the barn. He stopped only once, to spit on the ancient stone silo that had brought Dan into his life before making his long walk to the far tree line. The car was no longer there, but his mind’s eye could still see the black smoke pouring out from under the gore covered hood.
He swore under his breath at everyone. Dan had disrespected him. Adam shamefully begged for his life in front of everyone. Chris threw him out, and for what? He was only saying what he knew everyone was thinking. His heart filled with murderous rage towards those that had wronged him.
He held his head down, watching his feet kick snow aside as they plowed through the drifts. Blood rushed through his ears, the cadence of his heartbeat keeping time with his steps. The clouds above devoured the last remaining rays of sun as the midmorning passed into another dreary winter afternoon.
Adam’s thoughts were so lost in white hot anger that he did not notice the mounds of tilled earth had given way to flatter, softer ground. It was not until his shoulder bounced off of a small sapling that he realized he was standing just inside the edge of the forest.
Darkened shadows crawled across the forest floor. A foul rotten odor carried on the wind, sending chills up Adam’s spine. He thought he could hear the shuffling movement of dead feet in the distance. He felt hungry eyes upon him as he backed away from the foreboding wilderness. His body went numb as fear slimed its way throughout his being. No one was coming to help him.
He retreated from the forest and away from the phantoms his mind conjured up. Dry twigs snapped, echoing through the dense and silent woods. He thought he heard the throaty hiss of the dead deep within. His heart raced and his breaths quickened.
He shuffled backwards, eyes darting back and forth watching for danger he suddenly felt was behind every tree. He slid the crowbar from his belt, holding it up and ready to strike. He readied himself to run when his heel caught on a mound of earth.
He went sprawling, the heavy duffle bag pulling him backwards onto the ground. His back slammed against his pack when he hit the ground. For a few terrifying moments it was as if the muscles in his chest had forgotten how to draw air. He rolled to his side and struggled to breathe. The remnant of a corn stalk, hardened by the cold sliced deeply into his forehead above his eye. Warm blood trickled down his face staining the snow below him with crimson drops.
Adam felt around for his weapon. Coming back empty handed, he turned back towards the woods, fearful that his noise had drawn out the creatures hiding in the shadows. He grabbed a handful of snow, wiping away the blood that had marred his vision.
A deer walked through the trees, nuzzling its way through the shallow snow in search for food. It raised its head and stared at Adam for long moments before returning to its search. It moved gingerly between the trees, dead leafs crunched under its long slender legs. The hiss of its body rubbing against dead brush carried to Adams ears, eerily reminiscent of the living dead’s voice.
Adam dropped his head back to the ground. He watched the graceful animal graze, and laughed at himself for letting his mind run away to the point that he freaked himself out.
Slowly and quietly he made his way to his feet, as not to scare th
e foraging deer. An outline in the snow showed him where his weapon had fallen. After a few seconds of sifting, he was able to return it to his belt. The animal eyed him cautiously as it chewed scraps of food it had dug up. It lowered its muzzle to the ground again to continue its search, its eyes never fully breaking away from Adam.
“Chill, Bambi. I’m not going to eat you.” He moved towards the woods again. “Never saw one of you up close.”
He tread lightly, closing the gap between himself and the timid animal. It tensed as he neared, its brown and white pelt rippling as its tail twitched. Adam slowed, allowing the animal to relax before getting closer. When the animal eased, he moved again. He continued his measured approach until they were separated by only a few feet.
“BOO!”
The deer tripped up in its own legs as it darted through dead underbrush to get away. Adam laughed as it crashed through the woods and out of sight.
“Yeah! How do you like it fucker?!” he called after the deer. “Doesn’t feel good getting scared, does it?!”
“Dumb ass,” he said under his breath as he heard the distant sound of the frightened animal crash through the woods.
He made his way back to his duffle bag. Dark wet spots were already growing across the canvas. The strong smell of creamed corn surrounded it. He stared at the mess, knowing that his fall had cost him some, if not all of his canned food. The few clothes he had packed were likely covered in a wet mash of canned meat and green beans.
“Shit!” he spat. “Shit, shit, shit!” He picked up the bag, hurling it away with all his strength as his frustration peaked. Its contents sprayed into the air as the duffel popped open on impact. The clang of the aluminum cans thundered across the field, echoing off the red barn in the distance.
He dropped to his stomach, waiting for someone to come around the barn seeking the source of his noise. His little temper tantrum had exposed him to whomever was standing watch. He didn’t know if they would ignore him or come out to haul him back. For all he knew, Dan was up there now, lining up the shot that would end his life.
He watched the barn intently for any sign of movement. The building was huge, and the gentle downward slope of the land made the red and white building that much more imposing. Even the farmhouse was obscured from where he lay.
He almost kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. He scanned the area to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. The house, cars, and even the old rusty windmill towering above the trees were shielded from his view.
“Blind spot!” Adam gasped. “A fucking blind spot!” he laughed to himself.
No one on watch could see him. His path in the snow had been a straight line leading up to where he lay. He was completely concealed from prying eyes. He could have marched across the field and into the woods carrying a flag and wearing neon lights, and no one would have known.
The laughter came on him like a flood. Tears flowed, washing away the blood that continued to ooze into his eye. After the day of his emotions running well above his norm, he welcomed the chance to laugh it all away. Feeling his stress melt away, he rolled on his back to catch his breath.
The zombie was upon him before he could react. The dead man’s old bones cracked as it fell forward on top of him. Adam threw up his arm in time to catch the creature across the throat. Noxious black fluid seeped from sores on its head dripping down into Adam’s mouth. He gagged and spat, rocking back and forth trying to gain leverage to throw the creature off.
Gums clamped together until they bled, sticky foam dripping from its mouth onto his cheeks. Grimy fingers wrapped around the back of his head, pulling Adam close enough for its swollen black tongue to lap at the blood on his face. He shrieked as the cold sticky organ slimed its way up his skin. He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge himself from the creature’s grasp. His forehead suddenly lit with searing pain as its tongue plunged deep into his open wound.
A nauseating heat spread under Adams flesh, curling its way around his skull. His throat burned when he drew breath across a numbed tongue. In the midst of fighting for his life, he knew his struggle was ultimately in vain.
He was infected.
He pushed the creature away from his face, but the thing had gone wild with the taste of warm blood. It clawed at his face, leaving deep welts across his cheek. Adam continued to rock until he felt the creature’s weight shift, suddenly freeing one of Adam’s hands.
He grabbed the crowbar loose from his belt and forced the sharp point underneath the creature’s jaw. Blackened sludge that was once its blood poured from its throat as Adam pushed through the paper thin flesh. He felt a pop as the iron pushed through the creature’s decayed palate, crunching thin bone as it passed deeper into its head. With a final push, the cold metal broke through into the soft brain. The creature stiffened and went limp, its full dead weight coming down on top of Adam.
He pushed the corpse off and rolled to his hands and knees. His stomach roiled, and he vomited in great heaves. A pounding ache began to form behind his eyes, the fever already beginning to burn. The sickening warmth that started from his forehead had already worked its way down his shoulders.
“Fuck!” he raged, pounding his fists against the frozen ground. He brought himself to his feet and stood over the corpse.
“Fuck you!” He stomped on the things gut until remnants of its last meal spewed from its mouth. The masticated flesh sent Adam into another vomiting fit when he realized what the spewed meat was. He kicked the crowbar still lodged in corpse head, driving it through the top of the skull. Brain matter stuck to the tool began to dissolve into a black viscous sludge in the open air.
A rustling sound drew his attention. He turned to find dozens of dead eyes staring back at him. Decaying faces emerged from the shadows cast within the forest. He had not heard them until they had already set their sights on him. Their arms outstretched towards him as the empty silence suddenly erupted with growls.
He laughed an insane laugh. His fate was sealed the second he had been forced to leave the farm. He was infected, and he was dying. His last moments would be spent having his flesh rent from his body and devoured in front of him.
“Dan did this!” he spat. “This is his fault!”
He looked back towards the farm with smoldering hatred. His eyes trailed back to the slowly approaching horde and back to the farm again. He gambled that he would have enough time for one final act.
“Fine!” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“What the hell are you thinking!?” I gasped.
Chris had taken me to the slaughter room behind the barn. I had been inside several times before, usually to help him wrangle some poor animal to the inevitable fate of most farm livestock. The smell let me know what was waiting inside long before he turned on the battery powered lantern hanging by the door.
The 10’ by 20’ building was laid out like a medieval torture chamber. Bladed instruments hung from supports on the walls. The poultry corner sat opposite of where we stood, where several fried chicken dinners had started with the drop of a hatchet. Two empty hog pens sat to our right, the concrete floor permanently stained red with years of use. A stack of aluminum tubs were pushed into one pen, stored until they were needed to collect the blood and castoffs from butchered animals.
A large skinning rack spanned half the length of the wall to our left. Two sets of thick ropes dangled freely over the rack’s top beam, a small noose tied to the end of each swaying cord. Large basins sat below each set, poised to collect the blood spilling from the doomed livestock.
On the third rope set, the world’s newest apex predator had been secured. I knew who it was the second I laid eyes on him. I had seen him close enough in my rear view mirror to have the man’s face etched permanently in my memory.
The biker that had followed me to the farm hung upside down on the rack. Its clothes had been removed, exposing its gray mottled skin to the frigid air. Meat hooks dug deeply into
its thighs, holding it fast. Everything below the knees had been hacked off, leaving nothing but rotting stumps. Its arms were missing entirely, cut cleanly from the shoulders. Viscera poked through a bullet hole in its gut, the hole itself widening with rot. Its throat had been slashed, the sludge that had once been blood collected in the basin below. It opened its mouth despite the clearly shattered jaw, but its only noise was a gurgle from its severed throat. Its body writhed, swinging back and forth as warm flesh approached.
“I’m thinking that I need to know who my enemy is,” Chris replied apathetically.
“It’s a fucking zombie! What the hell do you want to learn from it?” I argued.
“Does it bleed?” he turned to face me. “Does it breathe? Is it afraid of anything? Does it feel any sensation whatsoever? Will it freeze to death? Will it starve to death? Those answers will tell me something.”
“And?!” I demanded.
“They don’t breathe, which means they probably won’t have any problems surviving under water. It leaks more than it bleeds, so no heartbeat. Draining its blood only made it lighter. The cold bothers us more than them, so the environment won’t be any help. It doesn’t look like lack of food has hurt it in any way. And if this thing is afraid of anything, I haven’t found it.”
“Okay professor, so what have you concluded?” I didn’t like the fact that this thing was so close to my family, but I couldn’t deny the logic behind his actions.
“It’s probably a zombie,” he smirked.
“Oh gee willikers Captain Obvious!” I roared. “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along!? Did you also make the amazing discovery that they smell like sun dried hobo’s ass?!”
“No,” Chris said with dead seriousness. His face grew dark, and his voice carried a chill that the winter air could not match. “They adapt.”
