by Steve Wands
"Eddie, you know what this reminds me of?" Joseph asked.
"Reminds me of staying up late to watch scary movies, only about a million times worse," Eddie replied, firing another shot.
"No, it reminds me of when we used to shoot our G.I. Joe's with rubber band guns--remember those?"
"I don't remember having this many G.I. Joe's," Eddie replied.
Frankie looked over to the two brothers. "Are you guys really talking about G.I. Joe's right now?"
"Yeah," they both replied.
"I love G.I. Joe's! Snake-Eyes was the shit!" Frankie smiled, sweat dripping down his cheek.
"Shit yeah he was," Joseph said, "he'd fuck these things up," he continued.
"We gotta move back," Scott yelled. "They're getting too fucking close!"
They moved back. They were only steps away from the vehicles which were ready to roll out with extremely eager drivers waiving them to get in. They continued to hold their ground, barely making a dent in the dead's numbers.
Sal took another swipe into the crowd of dead, pummeling them with the front of his cruiser, leaving tread marks all through the field. His cruiser was almost completely covered in blood and gore, like a Halloween prop at a haunted hayride. He continued to yell for backup over the radio, but no one was responding.
One of the bodies rolled up onto the windshield, hitting it hard enough to crack the glass. Sal didn't hear it crack, but once another rolled up and over he could see it begin to splinter. He spun the wheel around trying to deflect the dead away from the windshield and kicked up bloodied earth as he sped away, only to hit another few on his way away from the horde.
The dead thing rolled up the hood and into the windshield, its head the straw that broke the camel's back. Sal screamed as the dead thing broke through the grass. He squirmed for his service weapon as the deader raised its arms, reached through the windshield and dragged itself closer. Its mouth began to move, chewing on the air and its own swollen lips.
Sal could smell its decaying blue-grey skin which was now coming over the steering wheel as he pulled up his handgun. He flipped the safety, loaded the barrel and stuck the gun to the dead things head and pulled the trigger. The black-blood blew back and spattered over Sal's entire face. It got into his eyes, and mouth and Sal frantically wiped it off and spat it out.
"Fuck," he yelled, and fired at another deader that began to crawl into the opening.
Sal could no longer see where he was going, but he continued to keep his foot pressed to the floor. He fired again, taking the face off of the new intruder and feeling its cold blood blow back onto his face. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew he was fucked.
***
Davis heard the crackling of the ham radio and was startled to wake. He couldn't make out much more than 'backup' and 'VFW', but that was all he needed. He couldn't tell whose voice it was, but figured it was Sal. He grabbed his pants from the floor, pulled them and jumped into his boots and headed out the door pulling over his shirt. His truck kicked up a cloud of dust as he sped over to the hall.
"Backup is on the way," Davis called over the ham. "I repeat: backup is on the way." Davis depressed the button again, "all units convene at the VFW immediately."
***
Susan shook Dane awake when she heard Davis's voice over the walkie talkie. His eyes cracked open, but they didn't register anything other than bright lights and Susan's blurry face.
"Wh-what?" Dane mumbled, too asleep to realize that something was wrong.
"It's Davis," she said. "He's calling for backup at the VFW."
"Shit. Really?"
"Yeah. You gonna go?"
"Of course. I have to."
"You don't have to," she said. "We can just leave."
"Don't start that again. We've already gone over this. Where would we go?"
"I don't know, anywhere."
"Yeah, maybe tomorrow...watch out." He got up from the bed.
"Dane, I got a bad feeling about this," she said softly.
"Babe, please, don't start with that either. Its way too early and I haven't had any coffee--"
"Don't just dismiss me like that. I got a feeling, you know, like when my Grandma would get them. I just know this is bad...I don't want you to go...please...for me..."
"And do what? If I don't go we have to pick up and leave--I'd never be able to show my face around here again," Dane said, considering it.
"Fine, we'll go. I don't care. The world we knew doesn't exist anymore, so why should your job?"
Dane stared at her. Both of them were glassy-eyed, and he couldn't think of an answer, "they're my friends--"
"No. No, they're not."
"Yeah, Susan, some of them are."
"Are they friends worth dying with?"
***
Jon-Jon grabbed Dawn by the arm and raced the van. His heart thumped in his chest almost as rapidly as it did the moment he'd first seen a dead man get up and walk. But this was different--it was overwhelming, like a bad dream of being lost at sea and the boat just out of arm's reach. He wasn't going to let the boat speed away. He was getting on board and getting away as fast as he could.
He yelled to others to do the same, but no one could hear him over the several layers of panic-stricken screams and ear-shattering gunshots. Dawn could barely hear him, could barely believe that he was running away from the fight instead of to it. But she could tell from the way his lips parted and his eyes shimmered what he was saying.
Dawn turned in all directions, looking for someone to pull along with her, for someone to help. But everyone was either on their way to a vehicle or running with weapon in hand toward the dead attackers. Then she saw Yussef from the corner of her eye fall to the ground.
The little boy was scared pale, and spewing tears from his eyes. Dawn screamed for him to come and, by sheer luck, they caught eyes, because Yussef wouldn't have been able to make out her call amid the noise otherwise. But he knew enough to pick himself up and run toward her, and he ran as fast as thin little legs could carry him.
Dawn pulled Jon-Jon's arm hard, slowing him down long enough for Yussef to catch up. She grabbed his delicate wrist and pulled him close and the three of them ran toward the van.
Sal lost control of his cruiser and spun into Eddie's vehicle with Janice inside. She was thrown forward, hitting her head and nearly losing consciousness. Sal hit the car on the opposite side of where she was sat. The impact was hard and hard enough to wreck the front axle.
In the crash Sal managed to pin one of the dead things between the two vehicles. He shook his head and stumbled out of the car. Noticing the dead thing trying to free itself made him laugh. His eyes grew wild, fierce, and his smile was as savage as the heart that now beat vengefully in his chest. He stepped over to it, reloading his handgun and laughing.
"Oh, you fuckers got me good, I'll give you that," he said. "I guess it makes perfect sense--death always wins, but I had hope." Sal hovered over the dead thing. "I'd hoped to live long enough to see the world get back to normal, but I guess dying's as normal as its going to get."
Sal put the tip of the gun to the dead thing as it squirmed to get free. It hissed and reached and squirmed, but it didn't matter. Sal squeezed the trigger and the dead man's head erupted, spraying bits of gore as the bullet exited the back of its head.
By the time Sal turned around he was surrounded by a few of the creatures. One bit down on his shoulder and began to tear off clothing and flesh as Sal registered them. He screamed and pushed the filthy, rotten thing to the ground. He kicked it again, stomping on its chest and fired at its face. The things cheek ripped off and dropped to the dirt. He fired again, into the head and it moved no more.
He walked closer to the others and fired accordingly. Stepping uncomfortably close every time and putting them down one by one. Janice looked on in horror through the blood-streaked glass of the driver's side window. Her lip trembled but that was all she could give. She died inside when the horror hit home and was
only living for the sake of her son's sanity. Once Sal dispatched the nearby-dead he walked over to her.
"You okay?" Sal asked.
"Good enough," she replied.
"Got a smoke?"
"I quit years ago," she said. "It's bad for your health." She tried to smile.
Sal laughed and turned back around. He walked toward the undead horde that staggered down the hillside.
Janice got out of the car. She was still a little dizzy but quickly got her bearings and headed over to her sons.
Sheriff Bruce Davis arrived as fast as he could. He sped up the small hill to the side of the VFW and saw the mayhem instantly. He didn't know where to focus and as he stepped out of his truck and had no idea where he was going. There was too much going on and he'd never seen anything this bad, or on such a scale. He'd been involved in small riots before, but they were nothing like this. They were chaotic, sure, but when you had a dozen or so trained officers in riot gear it was controllable, and this was anything but controllable.
"Everybody clear the area!" Davis screamed.
He walked toward the line of vehicles. Jon-Jon had just reached his van and was about to take off, but when he heard Davis yelling to do so the guilt that was building subsided. Jon-Jon drove off kicking up a cloud dirt behind him. Davis continued down the lineup calling out to 'clear the area,' and those smart enough to listen did so.
Davis then turned his attention to the hillside. He tried to take in the scene, but everything moved too rapidly. There was no time to think: he couldn't act but only react. His eyes focused on Sal. Sal was the first friend he'd made upon becoming sheriff and through it all they had remained friends. What was left of Davis's heart hardened in that spitfire split-second of a moment when he figured out that his friend was covered in blood and looked only a shade more livelier than the dead things around. He was laughing like a lunatic and making gunshot noises with his mouth as his weapon clicked empty over and over again. The dead things began to surround them.
"Sal!" he screamed, running over to him. "What the fuck are you doing?" But Sal didn't answer. "Get away from them," he yelled as he drew closer.
Sal turned to look at his friend: not his boss, but his friend. He smiled, but the smile was broken to pieces as his laughter turned to sobs. He raised the gun to his head and held it there as the dead things came upon him. He gave one last cartoonish P-Choo as they dragged him to the ground screaming.
"No!"
By the time Davis was close enough to help his friend the deaders were pulling out foot after foot of his bloody, ropey innards. They pulled, fighting like hungry rats over subway scraps dropped by carefree yuppies. He couldn't scream anymore, but his face writhed in pain, the veins in his neck bulged but disappeared as they ripped the skin from it. One of the creatures bit his lip, tearing it down to the butt of his chin, exposing his coffee-stained teeth.
"No! You bastards! Get off him! Get off him," Davis cried.
He stood just behind the feasting dead and began to fire. His aim was off and his shots ran wild. He hit one in the neck, another in the back, another in the leg. He fought his emotions, and tried to force them down deep but they wouldn't budge. Much like the dead, he couldn't keep them down.
He stepped closer, seeing more of his friend than he could handle and lost himself in a blind rage. He fired again, and again, and by some form of autonomy his shots connected so that all that was left was a pile of dead bodies with one coming back in the middle--Sal.
"No," the words fell like whispers but hurt worse than broken bones. "No, Sal...oh, God...oh...God..." He hesitated for a breath, then he shot him in the head. The pile again laid still.
Janice had found her way to her sons. They stood feet ahead of her and had no idea she was behind them. She watched on in mild disbelief, her boys now men and doing what they needed to do to survive.
They were two among several, Chuck was there with his fading tan and bleached out hair. He was a horrible shot and probably wasted bullets if anything, but his presence alone was comfort to others who held the line with him. She saw Frankie, his once youthful face now bore the scars of hard times, sleepless nights, and heavier than lead thoughts. She could barely recognize these men as the boys they were only weeks ago. Time flies, she thought, wondering if hers was up. She stared at the dead stumbling from the tree line. They still came in droves, staggering one crooked step at a time. Her eyes locked onto a small girl, and her thoughts flashed back to her daughter. In a flash she relived the nightmare from days earlier, reopening the sticky-sweet scabs that hadn't quite formed scars. The little girl had hair cemented by dried blood to the side of her head. Most of her cheek was chewed off and her eye dangled loose from its socket. Her skin was scraped and clawed, her lips were frayed and hung in slivers. Her head hung to the side and her arm remained rigid to the side while the other arched halfway up, her mangled fingers in a pose that seemed to be showing off a ring finger far too young to adorn one. Her leg bent inward and her foot twisted on its side. She walked more on her ankle than her foot, which caused her stagger to be that much more prevalent. Then a gunshot to her head sent her falling backward into the legs of another dead thing moving forward, causing it to stumble on top of the little dead girl. That shook Janice from her thoughts, and she moved closer to her sons, reaching out for Joseph's arm.
Joseph turned around with fierce eyes that softened once he saw his mother.
"What are you doing? Why aren't you in the car?" Joseph asked.
"The car's been wrecked." She pointed back towards it.
"Fuck...are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, but we don't have a car. The Sheriff is telling everyone to leave..." she tried to yell over the noise.
"We can't just leave. We have to fight them."
"There's too many, honey. Let's go before its too late...please," she coaxed him.
Eddie turned to see where his brother had gone, and noticed him and his mother talking.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Car's fucked, that stupid cop crashed into it," his brother replied.
"Shit, let's back it up then, give us some more room." He began moving closer to the wall of the hall. "Guys," he yelled out, "move back!" But nobody could hear him. "Guys! Move back," he yelled as loud as he could, instantly getting hoarse.
They finally heard him and acknowledged by moving back. Once back Eddie noticed Davis out of the corner of his eye. He was walking up to the deaders with an outstretched arm and shooting the creatures at close range, much like Sal had done with an empty gun.
"Oh, shit, he's lost it. Look at him," Eddie pointed out.
"Can't blame him, looks like its working though," Frankie replied. And with that he ran to Davis, shotgun in hand and backed him up.
"Frankie, don't be stupid," Eddie called out. But it was too late: by the time the words came out he was halfway there.
"Where are we going?" Dawn asked.
"I don't know! I don't fucking know!" Jon-Jon yelled, having lost any cool he once possessed.
"Don't yell at me," she said, her arm wrapped around Yussef.
"I'm sorry. I'm just scared shitless...I can't believe how many there are! It's like the gas station all over again..."
"I know...but don't take it out on me. We need to keep calm," she said, gesturing toward the small boy.
"Calm?" Jon-Jon laughed.
He pulled the van over to the side of the road and was haunted by the lyrics of one of his favorite songs: should I stay, or should I go? he thought, and heard the voice of Mick Jones reverberating in his head.
"If I stay...there will be double," he mumbled.
"What's that?" Dawn asked.
"Huh--? Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud."
"This is so fucked. I'm chicken shit for running out aren't I?"
"We're all scared," she said.
"Scared yeah, but I ran. In the end I'm just a bitch."
"We're alive, and that's how I want to stay."
"Fine. Just don't get us killed," Dawn said, her eyes wet.
Scott had run out of ammunition and, after falling back with the rest of the line, he ran toward the tiny box he called a car. The blood streaked oversized Hot-Wheels sat crookedly down the slope on the front side of the VFW's grounds. It was only a few feet away, but every step felt like a mile away from Judy, and it pained him fiercely. He kept looking back, and then around, making sure to be on guard from all sides.
Scott took note of all the missing vehicles and quickly put the pieces together, or at least enough of them to make out the puzzle. He reached the car, got what he needed and hurried back while stuffing extra shells into his pockets. By the time he reached the line of defense he was reloading and catching his breath. Once he began firing, Frankie dropped back to do the same. Joseph clicked empty, and that was all he had. He tossed his empty gun toward the oncoming dead, but it fell short and hit the dirt.
"Come on, ma," he said, pulling her away from the line and toward the wrecked cars. He hoped there was something in the trunk with a few bullets left in it.
CHAPTER 26: Deeper down
"So much for that damned wall," Walter slammed his fist on the windowsill.
"What's the matter, dad?" asked Barbara.
"Nothing good sweetheart," he replied. He forced a smile on his tired face.
"Let me see," she said. She pushed past him to look out the window.
Pushing the curtain aside she looked out the window and gasped at what she saw. The dead things wandered through the fields to the rear of their home. They were spread apart, but numbered in the dozens with more even more in the distance.
"What are we going to do, dad?"
"Exactly what we planned on doing, sweetheart," he replied. "Now, calm down, take a deep breath. We're safe in here. Me and Jeff boarded the place up real tight. And if they do get in we can fight them off. This doesn't change anything, it was bound to happen so just keep your cool and stick to the plan."
