by Joe Kelly
“I really thought, you would be smarter than this” A deep glacially cold voice said out of the darkness. Seth began to shake and started to reach for his pistol. He didn’t know how Mr. Commando had known where to find him. but find him, he had. All the bravado of just a few minutes earlier was gone.
“I wouldn’t draw that and shoot, every walker in twenty miles will show up here.” The voice called out. “not that I really care.”
“What do you want?” Seth asked, hating the quiver in his voice. He tried to steel himself, but not even the hatred he felt for this man was enough to stiffen his spine.
“I want to kill you. You killed some of my friends, hurt a few more. You kept a young woman locked in a closet and raped her repeatedly. you even killed every survivor in that Courthouse. So what do you think I’d want to do with you.” Each word was cold and pitiless. A shiver ran up Seth’s spine.
“She was my fiancée” Seth said flatly the anger finally starting to burn.
“She was your rape victim you sick fuck.” The hard voice said from the darkness. pain flared as something smashed into Seths jaw, teeth flew, the force of the blow strong enough to spin him around where he collapsed. Sobbing in pain and fear he tried to crawl away, but an iron hard hand grabbed his ankle and pulled him back.
“Not so easy as that shit head” The man’s voice like hammered iron, Seth was hauled to his feet. Before he could run or even try to defend himself, a fist slammed into Seth’s stomach as he doubled over his face met a rising knee that sent him sprawling on his back. Blood flowing from his nose and smashed lips.
Seth was sobbing and scrabbling backwards when he remembered the edge of the bluff and stopped. He was able to get to his feet and drew his pistol to hell with the noise; he could stay ahead of his neighbors. He saw something move in the darkness under the trees and fired, then fired again. He stalked forward and was barely able to make out the shape of his pack laying on the ground. A hand lashed out of the darkness and wrenched the pistol out of his hand, breaking his trigger finger in the process. He howled with pain clutching his hand to his chest.
Finally, he could see his attacker in the dim light from the slim crescent moon, Jared tossed Seth’s pistol off to his right a cold smile on his face and for the first time in a long time a sliver of sanity entered Seth’s mind.
“Killing me want bring anyone back” Seth said, he refused to apologize. He had enjoyed it too much to pretend otherwise. He had spent his life kowtowing to others and even if it had only been insanity that had given him power, it had been his power and he had been stronger for it.
“True, but Killing you will let their spirits beat your ass on the other side.” Jared said as he twisted into a spinning snap kick that sent the little shit bouncing off a tree. It sounded like a few ribs might have broken.
Time to end this Jared thought, he wasn’t going to sit here and pound this shit bag into a pile of jelly. Simply because he would enjoy it too much, and the realization he could share even that much with this piece of human slime shook him.
“I’d do it again.” Seth hissed, as he staggered to his feet. His eyes glinting, he drew a hunting knife.
“I know you would” Jared said. “that’s why you have to die” he said gliding in, blocking the sweeping knife attack with a forearm block, then a kite strike to a nerve plexus deadened the arm, the knife fell to the ground. Jared struck with the edge of his hand across Seth’s throat then spun the Gagging man around and snapped his neck. Jared let the body drop to the ground. He didn’t care if the body re animated it couldn’t walk with a broken neck.
Jared gazed at the corpse for a moment feeling an intense satisfaction that bothered him. Shrugging he walked over and retrieved the pack and Seth’s Revolver. He had far to go and zombies to avoid.
As he headed down the narrow trail to the bottom of the bluff, part of a poem that Mark had liked ran thru his mind. Mark had read it and posted it on social media once such a thing existed, every Memorial Day for as long as Jared could remember.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking:
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
“ Rest in peace Mark, the bastards dead.” he said into the cool night air.
