Possession of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book Two)

by Fuchs, A. P.

  “Was kind of funny, actually. Found a brick near the mouth of an alley. Threw it at the zombie. Hit it in the head. Was enough to make it stagger to the side. I ran and picked up the brick and chucked it at it again. The second time the zombie’s skull cracked. Did it once more and all this brain gooped out. Was gross.”

  “I see.” Liar.

  “Hey, it worked.” He paused. “Got anything to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Wonder if any greenhouses are still standing. The Rain wouldn’t have gotten to them. Maybe the irrigation would be on autopilot, you know, powered by a generator. Wait. No sun. Maybe . . .”

  “Maybe that’s enough for now,” Tracy said.

  “Sorry. Like to ramble.”

  “No worries.”

  Joe eyed the fuel gauge. Gas was getting low. He and Tracy still didn’t know where they were going, and now with Andrew in the car—a part of him regretted picking up the kid solely because the guy was new, wasn’t part of the plan and it was kind of embarrassing being not yet sure where they were headed.

  “How did you guys last so long?” Andrew asked.

  When it appeared Tracy wasn’t going to answer, Joe said, “It’s complicated.”

  “Probably. What’d you do? Hole up in buildings, too?”

  “Sometimes.” Joe thought back to his world when he, August, Billie and Des spent the night in the maintenance room in Winnipeg Square.

  “And others?”

  “What’s with the twenty questions?” Tracy asked.

  “Just something I do. Just a curious person.”

  “Well, stop it.”

  “Touch-y.”

  Joe couldn’t help but notice Tracy shooting Andrew a hot glare. The young man sunk in his seat.

  “Man, I’m hungry,” Andrew said.

  “Heard you the first time,” Joe said.

  “I know. Just thinking about food. Haven’t had a real meal in a while. Went out again this morning looking . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Went looking for this place. Heard there was food there.”

  “What place?” Tracy asked.

  “Dunno. Just rumors about this underground place, away from everything. Not saying it was the Hilton” —he cracked a smile; no one else did— “but just heard there was still a safe place in the city.”

  “You mean you never found it or found anyone who knew anything?”

  “Haven’t talked to anyone since . . . in a long time.”

  Tracy gazed out the open passenger window. “There was one place.”

  “Yeah?”

  “One. That I knew of, anyway. Was part of it. Took people in.”

  “Where?”

  Joe looked at Andrew just before Tracy did.

  “Beneath the Disraeli Bridge,” she said.

  “Tracy,” Joe said, hoping to have cut her off. You should know better. What’s wrong with you?

  “What?”

  He just sighed. She seemed too eager to share that information and as much as he knew she was only trying to help, it just seemed too soon to tell Andrew about it. At the same time, it was her eagerness to help that saved himself and brought him to that place under the bridge. He thought maybe the fatigue was getting to her and she wasn’t thinking straight.

  “Beneath the bridge,” Andrew said.

  She nodded.

  “There’s two humps to it. Wait, never mind. One of them goes over the Red. Okay, I get it.” He gave Joe a cool glare, as if saying, “See, it’s fine. She told me. No biggie.” Andrew said, “There’s food?”

  “Enough, yeah.”

  “People?”

  “Enough, yeah.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Enough.”

  Joe said, “Okay, Tracy, that’s good.”

  “What?” she said.

  “I just think we should focus on what we’re doing here, that’s all.”

  “Not cool, Joe,” she said.

  “Joe?” Andrew said.

  Joe nodded.

  Andrew stopped talking. Then, “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Tracy asked.

  Joe looked at the young man.

  Andrew’s face was gray, his eyes white. Thin purple veins ran around his mouth and up his cheeks. His hair was messy and caked with filth. The sudden smell of excrement filled the car.

  Andrew quickly snapped his gaze toward Joe and lunged at him.

  29

  On the Side of the Road

  The El Camino swerved, swept the shoulder, then arced back toward the correct lane when Joe pulled down on the steering wheel while keeping his forearm beneath Andrew’s neck, holding the zombie at bay.

  “Shoot him!” Tracy shouted.

  The car swerved again.

  “I can’t! Gun’s in my . . . my holster.”

  Tracy’s arms came around behind Andrew’s chest. She pulled back, grunting. “Come on, grab the gun and get him!”

  Andrew jerked forward; Joe tugged back, Andrew’s teeth banged together, just missing him.

  Joe went for the gun then had to put his hand back on the wheel as the car veered off to the side again. “Hold on.” Wrestling against Andrew, he slouched in his seat and got the wheel in between his thighs.

  “Careful,” Tracy said, still pulling Andrew back. The zombie grabbed on to her hands and started pulling them away from his chest. She fought his force and brought her hands in again so her palms and fingers pressed against the grimy material of his shirt.

  They change their clothes, too, when they transform, she thought absentmindedly.

  Andrew jerked, twitched, and twisted in his seat so he faced her more squarely. Tracy suddenly found herself more twisted as well.

  The El Camino lurched forward as Joe pressed hard on the breaks.

  “Hold him still!” he said.

  “I’m trying!” she said.

  Andrew locked her arms against his body by using his elbows and upper arms like a pair of vices.

  Tracy yelled.

  Andrew went for her shoulder. His mouth opened and landed on her flesh.

  With a loud bang, the zombie’s head erupted like a loaded water balloon and blood, brain and bone exploded all over Tracy, the car, the seats—everywhere.

  Andrew’s weight went dead on top of her. Somewhere far away she heard Joe throw the car in park. His door opened and a moment later Andrew’s corpse was pulled off of her. Tracy lay there against her seat, covered in blood—again.

  The weight of Joe’s boots crunching against the side of the road behind her on the other side of the passenger door made her heart rise with hope at the upcoming relief of complaining about getting zombie blood on her for the umpteenth time.

  The door opened behind her and Joe pulled her out.

  “You can breathe now,” he said as he set her on her feet.

  Tracy shook her head and hair and wiped the blood off her face with her hands. “Easy for you to say.” She eyed him coolly.

  Joe yanked Andrew’s body out of the car and dumped it by the roadside. “I’m sorry this happened. Let me look at you.” He moved to touch her neck and shoulder but she batted his hand away. “Tracy, I’m not kidding. This is serious. Were you bit?”

  She grimaced. “No.”

  “Would you tell me if you were?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’d do.”

  She took note he still held the gun in his hand. “Fine. Fair enough.” She reached for his hand holding the gun. At first he moved it away, but she fixed her eyes on his and then he let her bring his gun hand up to her head. She made sure he felt her pull the gun hard enough, the barrel pressed to her forehead. “I’m fine, Joe.” Go ahead and shoot me, if you don’t believe me.

  He furrowed his brow. “You’re overreacting.”

  “No, I’m not.” She noticed his eyes change and light up with anger at the prospect of her being bit. It was apparent by the way he studied her wi
th his gaze that he’d been down this road with someone else before, someone he cared a great deal about having succumbed or been transformed to the undead. Someone he felt responsible for.

  “Let me look at your shoulder,” he said.

  “Take my word for it or pull the trigger.”

  “Why are you acting like this? Need I remind you this is your fault. You told him about the Hub. Why?”

  “I—You’re the one who picked him up.” Just wasn’t thinking.

  “What’s the matter with you? Is there a reason you’re acting like this? I’m not pulling the trigger.”

  “I thought—” —I thought maybe you got me, that you understood me. But you don’t trust anyone, do you?

  “If our positions were reversed, would you pull the trigger?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Be honest, Tracy.”

  She huffed. “If I thought you had something to hide. I’d kill you.”

  “Then you have to the count of three to show me your neck and shoulder or you will die by this roadside, regardless of our forming friendship.”

  She stared at him from beneath the barrel of the gun.

  “One,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and braced for the shot. Death would be instantaneous. She wouldn’t feel a—

  “Two.”

  Put it aside. Enough, she thought. Grunting, she pulled down on her collar and showed her neck. Joe kept the barrel against her head as he felt her neck with his fingers, and pushed her jaw side-to-side so he could check her from all angles. He even rounded behind her and lifted her hair off her neck and felt around back there.

  “Shoulders, too,” he said.

  Pissed, Tracy unzipped her collar and outfit far enough so she could pull the top down to expose her shoulders.

  “Oh, Tracy,” he said.

  The gun lingered a moment longer at the back of her head before Joe pulled it away. He touched the nape of her neck, the upper part of her back, her shoulders. His fingers running across her skin made her shake inside: partly upset at her vulnerability; partly excited at the tingling sensation his fingers created.

  “I’m sorry, Tracy,” he said. “You can zip it up.”

  He didn’t go to the front of her like she expected him to. She covered her shoulders again and zipped up her shirt.

  She didn’t face him. Not yet.

  “What happened?” he asked. He was talking about the scars. There were so many, all small, each one a deep cut gained from fighting the undead, to gouges created from trying to fit through tight spaces, to practice cuts so she’d be used to the pain should a zombie bite her flesh. She wanted to be able to withstand the agony so she could still fight the creatures to the death and rid this planet of at least one more monster before she left the earth for good.

  “It’s who I am,” she said softly and turned around.

  He almost looked disappointed at her, yet she also picked up the sense that he understood, that her relentless fight against the undead matched his own and even the pain caused by her self-mutilation was something he could relate to.

  For a brief moment it appeared he was going to say something, but instead, Joe pressed his lips together and nodded.

  He holstered his weapon, went to Andrew’s body and pulled off the zombie’s shirt. “Though they’re probably bone-dry, let’s see if maybe there’re some gas stations around here. If not, we’re too far along to go back anyway. Let’s just drive and see what we’ll see. Sound okay?”

  Tracy nodded.

  Joe used Andrew’s shirt to clean up the inside of the car. Once done, Tracy got in and they pulled off the shoulder and left the side of the road behind them.

  30

  Soda Cans

  Heading back to the Hub had been slow going. Michelle and Mark had encountered a few zombies, which she quickly took care of with a scatter of bullets. Mark dragged his feet despite her prodding him to pick it up. She didn’t want to be cold, but to be caught out here with the undead while grieving would be a hard fate.

  “I miss her already,” Mark had said.

  “I know you do,” Michelle replied. “I do, too. She was my friend and I loved her.”

  “I feel so . . . so . . . sick inside. There’s no way to change this. My mom . . . my mom is dead.”

  She saw the tears in his eyes. “I want to cry, too.” But it was too late. Tears were at the corner of her own eyes. “We need to be strong, okay? We can cry when we get home. We can’t cry out here. It’s too dangerous.”

  He sniffled. “I know.” And wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  Originally they were going to go up Main Street from Portage Avenue, round the debris of the Richardson Building, and head directly to the Hub, but the appearance of the undead forbade that. The detour took them in the opposite direction, even so far as behind the old Giant Tiger on Donald and Ellice. The store had been raided long before, so they didn’t bother going in to check for supplies.

  Coming up McDermot, Michelle spotted a vending machine truck, its back door partly open, the base of a few blue machines within plainly visible.

  “We have to check,” she said.

  “I just want to go home,” Mark told her.

  “After. It’d be selfish not to at least take a look.”

  He cast his eyes downward and simply nodded.

  Michelle went up to the back of the truck, then pushed up on the rear door. The door rolled up, revealing a handful of vending machines inside.

  Wonder if they come fully loaded? she thought. “Only one way to find out.” She got up onto the truck. “Mark?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come up here.” Then with as warm a smile as she could muster, “We’re going to have some fun, okay?”

  “What fun?”

  “Come up here and I’ll show you.”

  The boy came over and climbed the back of the truck, then stood beside her.

  “I’m going to go on this side, you stay here. We’re pushing this thing out and smashing it open.” She went to the other side of the machine, gripped the back of it with one hand, placed her other hand on the front.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Think it’ll work?”

  “Who knows, but the locks are already on these things and I’m not about to go hunting for a key. Besides” —she winked, feeling dorky for doing so— “this is way more fun.”

  Mark smiled for the first time since they left the parkade.

  “Ready?” she said.

  Mark gripped his side of the machine. “Uh-hm.”

  “One, two . . . three!”

  They pushed against the vending machine. Two wobbles later, it spilled forward, its front crashing good and hard against the edge of the back of the truck; it slid off face down to the pavement below, stopping short of falling off completely, its bottom end still elevated by the back of the truck. Good thing, too, because it enabled the cans to crash out of it and roll onto the pavement.

  “That was a close one,” Mark said, beaming.

  “Should have thought that one through better, huh?”

  He nodded, and went down and picked up a can of Pepsi. He opened it. The sssfft POP of it opening never sounded so good. Michelle had to have one of her own. She jumped down off the back of the truck, picked up a can, opened it and took a long swig. It was warm, but its sweetness was gloriously refreshing.

  “Grab as many as you can. Stuff your pockets,” she said. She looked around the area for something to put the extra cans in. They’d be heavy, but it would be a wonderful treat for some back at the Hub.

  A groan came from down the street. Michelle stopped mid sip. A zombie was coming toward them from a couple blocks away. Another came from around a corner, dragging its broken leg as it walked.

  My fault, she thought. Try to do something nice and I screw it up. Try and make the kid happy, and I can’t.

  “They heard us,” Mark said, stating her next thought.

  �
�I’m sorry.”

  He furrowed his brow and shot her a sharp look, then slammed the can of Pepsi on the ground. “How many people do you want to kill today?”

  The words cut her.

  All she wanted was to help ease his pain. Instead, she caused much more. She put her can on the ground.

  “Stay beside me, Mark,” she said, her tone firm. Fine. Not going to play nice anymore. She lined up her shot and took out the dead man that just rounded the corner.

  Mark picked up a fresh can and hurled it at the zombie down the street. “Go away!” The can fell well short of its target, but Michelle knew hitting it hadn’t been his intention.

  Michelle let the zombie beyond come a bit closer then lined up its head with the tip of her barrel. She pulled the trigger. The zombie went down.

  “I’m going home,” Mark said and started off down the street in the opposite direction of the fallen undead.

  She went after him, feeling guilty for leaving the cans of Pepsi behind. Maybe later her and a crew would come out and gather them up in newspaper bags or something.