Jack Zombie (Book 5): Dead End

by Flint Maxwell

  “My dad worked in that one. He had the nicest office. He’d let me visit him sometimes and I got to sit in this big, comfy wingback chair and eat candy. His secretary would even play Go Fish with me when Dad had to go to a meeting or take an important phone call. He did that a lot.” She turns away from the skyline and looks at the car.

  I put my arm around her. It hurts, I know it does. I can’t even imagine, but I don’t think she needs to hear this right now. So instead I say, “We’re going to find your mom, I promise, Darlene.”

  She looks up at me with wet eyes. She’s still smiling.

  “Well, we can walk from here,” Norm says.

  Abby shrugs. “I don’t mind. We’ve been in that smelly car forever.”

  It doesn’t smell like anything bad. It has that new car smell and Abby told us she’s never been fond of it, so she rolled her window down for most of the trip out of the Mojave and instead of the new car smell, we got that rotten smell of the dead. It’s okay, I guess — I hardly notice it anymore.

  “I need to stretch my legs,” Abby says. “We can find another car in the city.”

  I eye her wearily. Sure, there will be tons of cars, many of them sitting for the better part of a year. What are the odds that they work? Probably not good.

  Norm says, “We better find it before we get to the city. I’m not trying to end up like Jack in D.C.”

  As much as it hurt me to tell the story of our nation’s capital, I’d told them all about it. I didn’t skip any parts, either. I let them know about the men who lost their lives — even the ones who probably deserved it. No secrets among family.

  Abby and Norm huddle closer to Darlene and I. All of our eyes meet. There’s mutual understanding in them. We have to go on.

  I cross the barrier in the middle of the bridge and head to the pedestrian walkway. It looks safer on this side. I help Darlene over. Norm vaults it like an Olympian, and Abby is slow going, apprehensive.

  We walk on.

  There are more blood stains on the concrete up ahead. The wind blows harshly and I hear the support beams of the bridge twang and creak and groan as if it were a living creature. It causes my heart to speed up and the grip I have on Darlene’s hand to squeeze tighter.

  “I used to love the park,” Darlene says. It’s good to hear her voice, though; I think it’d be good to hear anything besides the wind and the water and that creaking coming from the bridge.

  “I’m excited to see it,” I say, only talking to keep my mind off of the certain death below. I grip the handrail hard and slide my hand along, wiping the metal clean. Norm has his gun out. He watches with his head on a swivel.

  “There was this train you could ride around the park. I haven’t seen it in years. It’s probably a lot smaller now that I’m grown,” Darlene says.

  “That sounds cool. I wonder if it still works,” Abby says. I think she’s just being polite.

  Norm cuts in. “I know we’re all scared and talking helps, but we really — ” He stops and looks down at his feet. The color drains from his face. The sun shines on a thin string, almost invisible to the naked eye, stretching around Norm’s ankle. I hear a soft beeping. Norm’s face changes from shocked and surprised to horror. His jaw stretches open, his eyes peel back.

  I’m frozen to the spot. We all are.

  “Run!” Norm says and he moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

  11

  Abby has the good grace to turn around and start running. I hear her feet slapping the concrete, but I don’t hear it for long because Norm comes at Darlene like he’s about to wrap us up in a hug that would rival one of Herb’s bear hugs.

  Then I don’t hear anything besides the explosion. I don’t think much of anything, either. The concrete scrapes my elbows and tears the back of my jeans open. The air grows a hundred degrees hotter. Something snaps and groans so loud, I’m able to hear it over the ringing in my ears.

  I scream — I don’t hear that, though.

  Then all is quiet for the moment.

  Norm breathes fast on top of Darlene and I. I can’t see. It’s like I’ve been in the dark for years and I’ve just now crawled out into the sunlight for the first time. Everything is white washed.

  “You okay?” Norm wheezes.

  He uses my chest to push himself up and the breath that’s mostly been knocked out of my lungs is gone. The air tastes like fire and smells like something melting. It takes a moment for the world to come back into focus, but when it does, I turn to Darlene and look at her. She’s curled into a ball. There’s a black scorch mark on her face. Some of her hair smokes and fizzles.

  “I should’ve seen that,” Norm is saying.

  Darlene says, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

  Abby sits a few feet behind us.

  “I should’ve seen that, too,” I say. Where else would that crater a ways back have come from? We fell into a trap. Norm set off explosives by walking through a trip wire. I get up and help Darlene. Now there’s a new crater in the bridge. Water plops and splashes below from the falling rock. The bridge’s suspension sways alarmingly. “We have to get off of this thing,” I say.

  Norm dusts himself off. He turns around and a deep slash has gone down his back, the clothing rippled and burned. I reach out and touch him. He winces. “Yeah, I’m gonna be feeling that one for awhile.”

  “Could be worse,” I say.

  Darlene moans and rolls her head back and forth. A loud pop comes from her spine. Abby approaches, black soot under her eyes.

  “Maybe we should go back,” Abby says. “Regroup.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Maybe we can find a different way into the city,” Darlene says.

  Abby shrugs. “Could be more traps up ahead.”

  Norm winces again, flexing his arm, which I now see is a bright reddish-pink color, like a deep sunburn, and the sight of it makes me a tad squeamish. “No, Jack’s right. We gotta keep going. If there’s traps here, there’s going to be traps everywhere else. Longer we dilly-daddle up here, the closer sundown gets. Besides, whoever set these traps — if they’re still around — would’ve heard that explosion.”

  “It’s so quiet, they probably heard it in China,” Abby says.

  I nod.

  “And we’re close,” Norm says.

  “Might get worse,” Abby says. “Like in one of those action movies, Indiana Jones or something. Each trap revs up in intensity until Indy is about one blow dart away from death.”

  “But he always survives, doesn’t he?” I say, giving Abby a wink. She rolls her eyes in her patented Abby Cage way.

  “That’s the movies,” she says.

  “Hey, I think we’ve survived a hell of a lot more than Indiana Jones has,” I say. “A few explosions are nothing to us now. Right?”

  Darlene nods. Norm stares at me with a burning intensity, a slight smile on his face. I’m trying to rally the troops. “Yeah, we can go back and regroup. We can go hide like chickens during a thunderstorm. But we’re better than that, aren’t we? We’re together and we’re strong. We keep going.”

  “Yes,” Darlene says. She reaches out a dirty hand and takes mine. She’s proud of me and I love it when she’s proud of me.

  “You guys are right,” Abby says, and she walks past us toward the gaping hole in the walkway. She doesn’t hesitate when she comes up to it. She takes the handrail in her good hand and wraps her other arm through it, then she jumps up onto the metal beam, which bounces under her weight and sends a coldness throughout my whole body. It looks like it’s going to give, but it doesn’t. In a few quick lateral strides, Abby is on the other side. She’s very careful when she lets go of the bar. She is looking at the walkway, strewn with rubble and chunks of concrete, for another tripwire.

  We all stare at her with our mouths hanging open.

  “Well damn,” Norm says, breaking the silence. Abby stares back over the chasm, her arms crossed. “That was pretty impressive, Ab.”

  “Why?
Because I don’t have a left hand or because I’m a girl?” she says.

  Norm chuckles. It’s amazing he can after almost getting blown to hell a few minutes ago. Sometimes, I really admire the bastard. “A little of both, I guess,” he says.

  “Anything you can do I can do better, Norm,” Abby says and looks to Darlene and me. “You guys coming?”

  I feel a little apprehensive and I have both of my hands. No way I could do what Abby just did. She must’ve been a gymnast in another life.

  Darlene doesn’t wait for me. She just goes. Not scared. Determined.

  She gets over almost as easily as Abby did.

  Now it’s my turn.

  I take hold of the handrail and lift up from the concrete. The bar gives beneath my weight more than it did when Abby and Darlene went. A dull vibration runs through my hands and is sent down my body. Below, water smacks into the pillars coming up from the bay. It’s a long way down. I shimmy about three feet and want nothing more than to start going back the way I came. Darlene looks so far away, and the land on the other side of her looks even farther. Give me zombies and crazy cowboys over heights any day. I keep going. The water roils. Debris floats by — things I can’t identify but look like they belong in this empty world, bobbing lifelessly on the water. I think of corpses, bloated bodies the fish have nibbled, eye sockets with half-chewed eyes, plastered clothing. I think of falling down there and landing on one, the wet plop of the corpse’s innards exploding out of its mouth and nostrils and ears once my body hits. Oh God, help me through this. My hands are getting sweaty. Sopping. The bar groans and creaks with every movement. I close my eyes. A dizzying feeling takes over. I feel the bar slipping out from beneath my grip. I’m going to fall and there’s no safety net below me. I’m going to land on the millions of corpses that once walked the downtown area of San Francisco, that once sat behind BMWs and Fords that traveled over the Golden Gate Bridge, I’m going —

  A hand grabs me and my eyes shoot open.

  It’s Abby. “Come on,” she says. I’m honestly surprised when I see I only have a few feet left to cross before I reach the safety of pedestrian walkway. That thought alone is enough to spur me the rest of the way — with Abby’s guidance, of course.

  As I hop off and my heels plant on the scorched concrete, I want nothing more than to bend down and start kissing the ground. I don’t do it, that would just be embarrassing, but the feeling is still there.

  “Took you long enough,” Darlene says and winks.

  “Don’t move, you guys,” Norm says. “There might be other setups. Wait for me.”

  He makes his way across the gap as nimbly as Darlene or Abby. The beams and metal rods barely make any noise as he travels over to us. On the other side of this hole and at the edge of a different hole is the black car taken from Central. It sits there, looking very lonely and very out of place.

  Norm climbs over the jagged handrail on our right and back onto the road. He picks up a few chunks of concrete in his hand, looks down the rest of the bridge — which is probably less than a quarter mile — and he rolls a large chunk out in front of him like a professional bowler. The chunk, not even close to the size of a bowling ball, cartwheels down the road. It looks like it’s going to travel forever, bouncing right into the heart of San Francisco, but it doesn’t.

  It just stops. Drops dead.

  Twang.

  Thank God the rock wasn’t big enough to set off the trap. Norm knows what he’s doing. I trust him.

  In the waning sunlight, a hair-thin wire wobbles, catching the glare in shimmering waves.

  “We’re good until we hit that spot,” Norm says. “Clever bastards.”

  “Wow,” I say, looking at my brother in awe. What the hell would we do without him?

  12

  We step over this trap easily enough and Norm rolls another chunk of rock. It hits a wire much too close for comfort, about twelve feet in front of the other one. It’d probably be easier to take a peek under the bridge and see where the explosives are strapped at this point. But we keep going.

  We reach the end of the bridge, the dead city beyond us. I feel my heart swell with anticipation and fear.

  But I think, Time to kick some ass.

  13

  The walk into the city is an arduous one. We talk quietly from time to time, but otherwise we are focused. The sun is almost gone now, barely a dusky orange in the darkness. Still, with the faint light, I see Darlene’s engagement ring glitter. Somehow, she’s kept it. I got it back when I didn’t have much money. And you know, before the world ended. Darlene deserves the biggest diamond I could get her. Unfortunately, the biggest diamond I could afford was not very big at all. Somewhere in my head the voice of Darlene’s mom says, You’re not good enough for her, Jack.

  Yes, I am.

  Darlene walks with a purpose — we all do. She is hellbent on seeing her mom and sister one last time.

  I pick up the pace and walk next to her. Abby and Norm walk side by side a few feet behind. We are always on the lookout for cars, but every single one we’ve tried has been dead. The stretch of highway we walk seems like it goes on forever. We are on a curve. Low hanging trees, no longer trimmed and kept neat by the city, hang over the guardrail, reaching out to us, beckoning us into the darkening forest where we can get lost forever and ever.

  “Darlene,” I say.

  “Yeah?” she answers.

  “Maybe we should call it quits for the night. We’re all beat and I know you are, too. Look at your shoes,” I say.

  She doesn’t. But the white Nikes she got from that Foot Locker a couple days ago are ripping. The sole stitched into the forefoot opens and closes, opens and closes.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  A few months ago, she’d listen to anything I’d say, and she’d be the one telling me to take a break, let your bullet wound heal, don’t go running into Eden without help. Now the roles have reversed.

  I put my arm around her. She is soaked in sweat around the collar. Her exposed neck and arms are no longer a milky white; now, they’re desert-scorched. She feels more than warm; she feels hot.

  “Just a breather,” I say, pointing behind me. “Look at those two back there. They look like zombies.”

  Not to mention we haven’t seen any true zombies and that freaks me the fuck out. Not to mention the pistols and limited ammo we have on us is all we have on us and we are most likely heading into an undead war zone. Not to mention I’m scared as all hell because the sun is almost gone and in a world where the electricity doesn’t run because the people who are supposed to be running it are dead, no sun means total, utter blackness, and total, utter blackness means wilder zombies — hungrier zombies.

  Of course, I can’t say these things. I don’t know if they’ll scare her or not (probably not, since this is a new Darlene), but saying them out loud would do nothing besides scare the piss out of me, as if speaking about them makes them real, makes these things more likely to happen.

  She keeps walking, leaving me there to look at Abby and Norm. How can I get her to stop? I don’t know.

  Then, suddenly, I hear her footsteps cease. She’s almost completely around the curve now. I jog to catch up with her, and what I see stops me dead in my tracks, too.

  Not only what I see, but what I smell.

  14

  It’s a tunnel at the end of the highway. It goes through a high rise in the land. From where I’m standing, I can no longer see the San Francisco skyline — well, what’s left of it. The hill dwarfs me, casting a black shadow over us.

  The smell that drifts from it is a common one of the apocalyptic world we live in, a smell my brain wanted to forget. Now, it’s back, the putrid stink of rotten flesh, of dusty corpses left to the zombies and maggots and worms. It’s old gasoline and melted tires. It’s death. Hopelessness.

  “I am definitely not going through there,” Abby says from behind me. We all jump at the sound of her voice. I think we were so entranced by what
lies ahead, we kind of forgot we were with each other. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go in there.”

  I feel the same, but we have to. Money is useless now anyway.

  “Don’t see much of a choice,” Norm says.

  Darlene remains looking at the dark mouth of the tunnel, the shadowy pavement of road. Right in the thin veil of light that separates the blackness from the darkness, I see the tail end of a VW Beetle, one side slumped on a flat tire, the back windshield jagged and broken.

  “Gotta be a way around,” I say, squinting my eyes and scanning the land. We could hike the hill, or jump off the overpass we are currently standing on, the one that seems to stretch on for half a mile. But I think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to jumping off of overpasses with D.C. and all. It looks like farther down the stretch of highway concrete embankments guide us into the tunnel, so we either get off now or keep going. One glance at the dark trees and empty black windows in the surrounding houses, and a feeling of dread makes it tough for me to speak, let alone move.

  “We’re safer on the highway,” Norm says. “Tough to get lost when you’re stuck with four lanes, even if we can’t see.”

  But we will see — we’ll see zombies coming from a mile away in this blackness. Those glowing eyes will bounce and dance in the dark. It’s not the zombies I’m worried about. It’s the people. The crazies. The Froggies, the Butches, Spikes. Even the Doc Kleins, Mrs. Mays, and Beas. Plus I’ve heard the people around the Bay Area were already borderline crazy to begin with.

  “We can camp out on the road,” I say, “wait ’till it’s light out. Take turns on watch. I’ll take the first one.”

  “I’m cool with that,” Abby says. “I’m cooler if you let me just sleep through the night.”