Jack Zombie (Book 5): Dead End

by Flint Maxwell

  I slide my hand down to his wrist. I whip his arm in the direction away from Carmen. We part. I see this guy is not an old man, not a woman. He’s big, buff. All the prior confidence I had wheezes out of me. He comes at me full-force, that blade held high. This is what the kicker must feel like when he accidentally has the football in his hands and a four-hundred pound lineman is bulldozing his way toward him.

  All I can do is close my eyes. Listen to the screams — from Carmen, from Abby, from Norm. Listen to the laughter — from Walter, from the clergymen who believe sacrificing humans to the zombies keeps them away.

  All I can do is accept my fate.

  85

  If this is hell, then hell is full of thunderstorms. Because that’s what I hear — loud claps, almost like a…

  Gunshot!

  I open my eyes just in time to see Bulldozer have his airbag deflated, and by that, I mean, I open my eyes just in time to see his head blown in.

  “You’re welcome!” Abby shouts.

  Bulldozer drops to his knees and falls. Dead.

  Abby stands behind him, the rifle aimed. We catch eyes, mutual respect, mutual understanding. Then it’s back to the war.

  I turn to Carmen. “Get Tim and get out of here!”

  I’m expecting her to say he’s too heavy or I can’t do that! But she doesn’t. She nods as if she was way ahead of me the whole time.

  I climb the platform.

  Norm screams.

  Somewhere in all the chaos, Abby shouts a cry of victory. I see her standing on a different counter now — a place called Charley’s Grilled Subs — and she’s stomping down on the heads of the robed clergymen. They reach up to her dazed, like zombies…eerily like zombies. Other slice at her with their knives. But Abby’s not giving a shit. She connects with the top of a woman’s head. The woman collapses almost instantly. I mean, Abby must be made of titanium. First the killer head-butt and now the killer boot stomp. What’s next, she’s going to regenerate her hand?

  Norm screams again.

  “A sacrifice is needed!” Walter’s voice booms. I snap my head in their direction. Norm no longer has the upper hand. He’s on his back, pinned down by Walter’s knees and by wearing the oxygen tank Walter must weigh a ton.

  My magnum glows. It’s a few feet away from me. I think I hear an angel’s harp. Just as I set off for it, a robed man sees me. His eyes narrow to the weapon. We both go for it.

  Nope. Uh-uh.

  I slug him. Mean right hook. Feel his gaunt cheekbone shatter beneath my fist, which burns with fire.

  I get the gun, hand thrumming, aim at Walter on the stage.

  “Hey, ugly!” I say. He turns. Beneath his oxygen mask, he snarls.

  “Here’s your sacrifice.”

  And I pull the trigger.

  86

  CLICK.

  Shit.

  Jammed. Or empty. No, but it shouldn’t be —

  The horror on Walter’s face, which I think is probably always horror-filled, eases into a smile hidden behind that foggy, and now bloody, oxygen mask. He laughs, deep and rumbling. He has a hand clamped around Norm’s throat. It squeezes tighter and tighter. I hear Norm choking. His arms and legs flail, but the movements are slow, sluggish.

  Outside of the mall, the zombie faces fill the glass. Their eyes glow, not like dim embers, but like wildfires. Thump, scratch, thump, moan — that’s what we hear now.

  “No, my friend,” Walter says, “the sacrificing has yet to begin. My babies are hungry! Aren’t they! AREN”T THEY!”

  “Hungry,” what’s left of the crowd echoes. Not much, but more than us.

  “They must be fed,” Walter says.

  “FED!” another echo. Then: “SACRIFICE, SACRIFICE, SACRIFICE.”

  It’s like D.C., but a hundred times worse. Back there when I was running from the cannibals, it was just me — no one to worry about.

  Jesus Christ.

  Norm utters one last wheeze and his arms stop fighting. Carmen, with Tim half-dozed in her arms, leaning against her, back up to the windows as another crowd of clergymen corner them.

  Abby screams, “Get off of me. Get the fuck off of me!” Across the way, Abby is pulled from the counter.

  I pull the trigger again.

  CLICK.

  CLICK.

  CLICK.

  Now, I’m backing up.

  I hit a wall. Turn around. It’s a wall of red robes. Their faces are bloody, their faces are hungry.

  I’m thinking of Darlene. God, I hope she’s all right. I hope she’s running back to Haven. I hope she doesn’t see this.

  Arms seize me. I go rigid. I try to fight. Try to resist.

  Useless.

  87

  Hope can come in many sounds. And just when I think all hope is dead.

  It comes in the form of a bark.

  88

  Heads turn in the crowd, one by one — the Domino Effect. The last head to turn is Walter’s.

  From around the side of him, I see the big black Labrador tear through the people. I don’t believe it, but some of these robed clergymen shriek as if Cupcake is a monster from another planet, as if they’ve never seen a dog before.

  I’m on my knees.

  As happy as I am to see Cupcake, I’m even more happier to see Walter turn.

  Then, emerging from the shadows like a gunslinger on a dusty road is Darlene. She is covered in blood. I don't think it's her blood. I can't fathom what she had to get through – who she had to get through – to get to us. Bloody, yeah, but she looks better than all the rest of us, which, I guess, isn't saying much.

  “No sacrifices today,” she says.

  Walt takes one look at her. “Kill the bitch,” he says.

  But the distraction. That’s all I need.

  This time, I don’t hate myself for what I do. I’m past that. I lean back, crack my head against the man behind me — Bulldozer Jr’s — groin, except he’s so big, I barely clip his beanbag. It’s enough for him to double over and shout out in pain.

  Darlene aims and fires toward us. A man behind me screams.

  Walter runs for cover, but I’m on him.

  A punch to the gut.

  All the breath whooshes out of him so fast that I actually see his oxygen mask go starch white with fog. He drops the blade he was about to kill me with. It clangs off the platform and is lost in the sea of dead red robes.

  Chaos follows.

  Carmen screams as she fights the clergyman. Abby screams as she protects Norm, who is passed out.

  Darlene runs toward us. I almost want to turn and shout, No, get out of here! But can’t. There’s no time.

  More gunshots go off and I try not to think of any of my group shot or dead. I lunge at Walter again. If I can’t shoot him, I’ll beat him to death.

  But he’s strong, these crazy pricks are always strong. Ask Butch Hazard. He catches my fist and swings back with his left. It catches me in the jaw, causes my vision to fuzz out. I stumble back.

  A gunshot goes off much too close to my ear. A quick glance shows Darlene fighting her way toward me, burying slugs in red robed assholes.

  Suddenly, Moonlight floods the food court, illuminating Walter’s haggard face. His left eyebrow is covered in red. There’s a gash there about two inches long.

  I bet I look worse.

  His hand slowly goes to the cut, touches the fresh blood, and holds it in front of his face. Then his features change. Somehow he looks more crazed, more psychotic. I won’t lie and say I’m not scared. I’m fucking terrified.

  He comes at me like a raging bull, moving much too fast for a half-corpse of a man. Walter spears me.

  I hit the mall floor with bone-cracking force, and we are sliding, sliding —

  Sliding.

  We come to a stop at the front doors.

  “Jack!” Darlene.

  Gunshots.

  The doors behind rattle and shake in their frames. Smeared blood and pus blurs the zombies’ yellow eyes. Jesus Chri
st, they’re must be a hundred of them. They smash their faces into the glass, gnash their teeth, claw with missing fingertips and bony nubs.

  But that’s the least of my worries. Because Walter mounts me. He really does weigh more than he looks, then again, all the weight is in the oxygen tank. He throws a fury of punches at me that catch me in the face, the ribs, the neck.

  Cupcake runs beneath the platform. I see him through bleary, bloody eyes. As my consciousness slips, he looks like a dream.

  He jumps, flies through the air, teeth bared. Walter doesn’t even know what hits him. Cupcake clamps down on the side of his body, growling. Fresh blood sprays as he rips at the fabric and the skin like Walter is a chew toy.

  Walter, distracted again, lays off of me, though he’s still pinning me down. I find I don’t have the strength to swing at him. I can barely lift my arm.

  Walter backhands Cupcake. Cupcake yelps and whines. He lets go of Walter’s side.

  “Stupid fucking dog!” Walter seethes.

  Then he turns back to me.

  More gunshots go off. People are screaming. Or am I screaming? I can’t tell anymore. The world gets blurry, distant. Where’s Darlene? God, I hope she’s okay. I think I see Herb. No, but he’s dead. I killed him. I shot him in the head like a sick dog. Jesus…here I come. Hell, maybe.

  Walter snarls. He sees me trying to fight back and the oxygen mask is all askew and I can see his twisted smile, his sharp, bloody teeth. He raises a fist again. It comes down so slow yet so fast. It clobbers my skull. My head bounces off the hard mall floor. What the hell is this made out of? Stone? My ears ring. Blood dribbles from my mouth. I have no fight left. What little hope I had before is as dead as I’m going to be.

  Darlene screaming. Hands grabbing at her. Red robed arms pinning her down and taking the gun away.

  More barking. More death rattles. More gunshots.

  “JACK!” It’s Darlene, but she sounds so far away, in another world.

  Walter hits me again. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. My head is tilted. The floor is cold against my cheeks.

  “Teach…you…to…fight…back,” Walter is saying. Each pause between words is another hit, another blast that brings me closer to death.

  “JACK! JACK!”

  Gunshots.

  Screams.

  Mother, Isaiah, Mrs. Fox, Pat Huber, Tony and Ben Richards, Grady, other Mother, Jacob, Doc Klein, Herbie, here I come!

  There is no last hit. There is no nail in the coffin.

  I hear snarling again — not from the zombies. Pressure releases from my chest. I find I’m able to breathe again.

  “Stupid — ” yelp “ — fucking — ” yelp “ — DOG!” Walter shouts. His voice is thunderous. The growling and snarling is louder. I’m able to lift my head, though the world is distorted and pigeon-feather gray. Cupcake has a mouthful of Walter’s arm. Blood squirts from between his clamped jaws. Walter is beating Cupcake with his free hand, bashing his head. The dog’s eyes show whites, but he won’t let go. God, is he dead? Please don’t let him be dead. Bloody foam leaks from his mouth.

  I have to stop this.

  Walter grabs him by the scruff of his neck and vaults him across the floor.

  C’mon, Jack, find that inner strength. Find the reserve tank.

  But it’s empty.

  With all the pain and delirium in my head, I accept my death. I accept my failure.

  Norm is in my head saying, We had a good run, didn’t we, bro?

  Abby is saying, I’m so glad you came back to Woodhaven when you did. I’m so glad you were always there for me. Family until the end.

  Herb says, Jacky, come hear the music. Come dance with me.

  Darlene is last. She steps forward. She’s glowing. She says, “SEE IF YOU CAN COME BACK FROM THIS!”

  What?

  No, I heard that. I actually heard that.

  Walter screams as Darlene grabs him by his wispy hair. She has something in her hand. Something that snaps me out of my haze. The oxygen mask pulls away from Walter’s mouth. His scream is so loud.

  Holy fuck, it’s a grenade. One of Tim’s last grenades.

  Somehow, I’m up.

  I found the reserve tank.

  “NOW HERE’S YOUR FUCKING SACRIFICE!” Darlene screams.

  The oxygen mask snaps over the grenade, which is over Walter’s mouth, and Darlene shouts as she yanks him back. I hear the metallic clank of his oxygen tank breaking the glass of the front doors. His muffled scream as he falls into the lobby.

  My own bloody gurgle.

  The death rattles of the zombies who’ve found their way over her amplify.

  The eight seconds we have before Walter explodes into a billion scorched pieces of demented meat last for an eternity, and it still doesn’t seem long enough.

  With my body screaming in pain, I tackle Darlene, who is laughing like a lunatic, and shout, “GET DOWN! EVERYONE GET DOWN!” I drive her behind one of the stone pillars near the platform where Walter has thrown Cupcake. Is my dog dead? God, please don’t let him be dead. Don’t let any of us be dead.

  We hit a mound of red robe corpses.

  Walter’s last scream — already dampened by the grenade he is currently sucking on — is cut off by an explosion of biblical proportions. My head pulses. Ears bray and ring. Fire bathes us all.

  Hot. So hot.

  Hellfire.

  Pale, rotted arms and gnarled hands blow through the lobby and into the food court.

  Then it’s over.

  I lift my head up and see half of the mall’s facade is blown to smithereens. Flames light up the night. Zombies are gone. Walter is gone.

  We are still here.

  Victory.

  89

  I push myself up on watery legs. Darlene is under me. She’s still smiling, still looking insane. But still beautiful. I almost fall. Have to catch myself on a fractured pillar.

  “Jack? Darlene?” Abby shouts.

  It’s like hearing her through ear plugs. I stick a finger inside and try to swab them out. No luck. She’s by the Charley’s still.

  “Where’s Norm?” I shout, seeing he’s no longer on the platform because the platform has flipped over.

  “NORM!” Tim shouts.

  I look to my left by the carousel, see Carmen and Tim on the ground. Carmen is bleeding, dazed. Tim is okay.

  As I scan the food court for my older brother, I see the dead men and woman where I was held, before Walter and I got into that final fight. They are not dead because of the explosion. They are shot. Darlene killed them.

  Like a gunslinger, I think.

  Silence until gunshots ripple through the food court, scaring us all. The explosive noise not as loud now that my ears are fucked. It’s Abby shooting running robed figures. She cuts down a lot, but more get away, running back the way we’d come.

  “NORM!” I shout.

  I know I’ve lost him, I think. Never get off easy, Jack. It’s the way of this world, now. Way of li —

  “Ughhhhh.” Muffled. It comes from under the platform.

  Hope swells.

  In the ruins of this beautiful battlefield, I hear my brother. “C’mon, dicks,” Norm says. “Over here.”

  Tim and I dig him out, much to the disagreement of my injuries — broken ribs, beaten face, third-degree burns…you name it.

  “Thanks,” Norm says when he’s free. He’s bloody. He’s bruised. One eye swollen. Like Eden all over again, I think. “But you still owe me that Slim Jim.” Then he bends over and starts coughing.

  Slim Jim. Cupcake.

  I rush back over to where Darlene is.

  “Cupcake,” I say. My voice is hoarse. “Cupcaaaake.”

  “No, Jack, don’t look,” Darlene says. She’s huddled over Cupcake’s body. His bloody body.

  “CUPCAAKE!” I shout, the effort burning my vocal chords. My chest tightens as I look at the dead dog in front of me. Another dead family member. Then the tears come, slow at first, a thunder
storm seconds later.

  “Cupcake,” I whisper.

  Darlene turns and hugs me tight — dull pain comes with the force of her arms. Her insane haze breaks and we sob together.

  I bring a bloody hand up to wipe my face. Eyes close. World goes dark.

  Thump…thump…

  “Cupcake?” My voice is breathless.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

  “CUPCAKE!”

  He turns his bloody face up at me, straining, ears flowing out behind him like long, black hair. Darlene and I part. Against every twinge of pain and protest in my body, I run forward, nearly falling on my face on three occasions. Cupcake’s tail continues to wag. Slow but steady, like a beating heart.

  90

  Cupcake’s beaten up pretty bad, but I think he’ll be okay. Tim and Norm embrace each other, exclaiming in mutual shared pain. Tim has torn his singed shirt and wrapped it around his torso, to keep the flapped-open skin and blood in place. It’s gruesome, but I think he’ll be okay, too. Carmen kisses Darlene on one cheek and doesn’t even say Yuck!

  Abby pats me on the back.

  Norm hobbles over to me. “We did it, little bro,.”

  “We did,” I answer.

  I bend down and speak softly to Cupcake. “It’s all right, boy, we’re gonna fix you up.”

  “I can’t believe I did that,” Darlene says, breathless, looking at the ruined front of the building.

  “I second that,” Abby says.

  I grab her around the waist, inhaling her sweet, smoky scent. “You did what you had to do. I’m proud.”

  She grabs my hand, then we kiss.

  We reach the outside and the air is cooler out here. The zombies coming toward the flames never see us, nor do they care.

  Darlene tells me she loves me and I tell her I love her, too.

  Cupcake’s whines grow into soft barks. A good sign.

  We move on. As a family. Beaten, broken, but still alive. Still together.

  Haven’s repaired fences loom in the morning haze. Muted sunlight rises in the distance.