Southern Zombies 5: South of Hell

by Ann Riley

  Diane raises her hand.

  Marc nods.

  Finally, we get loaded up and head up the driveway. Trey is in the guard tower.

  “Make sure to keep an eye out. Check the fence too when you get out of here.” Marc tells him.

  “I will daddy.” Trey says to Marc.

  “And stop acting an ass on the Pioneer too.” I say.

  Trey smiles.

  “Can we go now?” Diane asks.

  Someone is grouchy this morning.

  Pretty soon, we get to our turn for the Webster’s home. The area looks like a trip back in time to when there were no inhabitants around. The plants and trees are growing and flourishing without the interference from man. The air is fresher without all the pollution we have put into it over the decades. We have a whole new world to start rebuilding. But first, we need to get rid of our unwanted guests.

  “Slow down Marc. We are coming up on the Webster’s drive.” Diane says.

  Marc slows, and we take a left turn onto a narrow dirt driveway. There is a fence lining each side of the drive down to the house. When we get to the house, it looks like it has been abandoned. It just looks empty, for lack of a better word.

  “This doesn’t look good.” Marc says.

  We all nod.

  We stop and sit for a minute to look around. No biters are in sight. Marc and Bobby open the doors to get out. Diane and I stand at the truck. Bobby covers Marc as he walks up to the front of the house and makes his way onto the porch. I see Marc put a hand over his nose when he gets closer to the door. That isn’t a good sign. He knocks and gets no answer. He knocks again and calls out for Mr. Webster. Still, no answer. But he does hear a shuffling noise. About the time Marc turns to look at us, something slams up against the door from the inside.

  “Fuck!” Marc yells.

  “Shit. I think we may be too late for them.” I say.

  “Yeah, me too.” Diane says.

  “You have one coming from behind the barn Bobby. To the right.” I say.

  Bobby fires a shot to the head.

  Then another comes out.

  Marc jumps off the porch and stabs it in the head.

  Well, I guess we have a dilemma here now. Should we try and get inside to see if the Websters are in there? Would I want to be left as a zombie? I think not.

  “We need to see if they are dead.” I say.

  Diane nods.

  “I’m on it.” Marc says.

  Bobby walks up to cover Marc.

  Marc goes back on the porch, walks up to the door, takes an aim with his foot and kicks the door in. We hear a loud banging from inside and realize it’s one of the inhabitants of the house getting slammed to the floor by the door flying open.

  Marc takes a step inside, and Mr. Webster is on the floor rolling around trying to get up. He’s growling and snapping his teeth.

  Well, damn. Now we know.

  Marc takes his knife and ends it for Mr. Webster. Going into the house a few steps more gives Marc the view of Mrs. Webster lying in the hallway with her throat torn out and she is partially eaten.

  Marc comes out spraying stomach juice everywhere.

  “I can never understand how you can hunt and gut your kills, but have a weak stomach too.” I say.

  “That smell doesn’t even compare to any of my kills.” Marc says.

  “Bring your ass so we can go to the next house.” I say.

  “I’m coming.” Marc growls.

  We get back into the truck and head out again. I think this may be more difficult than we thought. Maybe we didn’t realize how many people have been lost to this. Or maybe we were just hoping for a miracle.

  We leave the Webster home and head back out the same way we came in. We get back on the main road that brought us to their driveway and Marc stops.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I have to say; I don’t think we’ll find anyone alive.” Marc says.

  “The Colemans are older than the Websters, so there is a chance they are dead too.” Marc says.

  “Yeah, but we have to check.” Diane says.

  We continue on. Marc turns right off of the road and onto a paved drive. Trees line each side of the drive and grass has taken over the side of the driveway. As we near the house, we can see someone walking out of the barn.

  “I think that is Mrs. Coleman.” Marc says.

  We get closer and we can see that it is her and she isn’t a zombie. She also doesn’t look sick.

  We drive up to the house and stop. Marc gets out and waves at her to let her know we are not hostile.

  She acknowledges him with her shotgun.

  “Whoa Mrs. Coleman. It’s Marc, Burrell’s son.” Marc says.

  She stares at him for a second, then smiles.

  “I should have known with all those freckles who you are.” She says.

  I snort out a laugh.

  Freckles and red hair are the main qualities of the Graham’s. My nephews have both qualities.

  “I’m glad to see you are doing good.” Marc tells her.

  “I’m making it. Mr. Coleman didn’t make it though. I’ve been here alone for a few months now. It doesn’t seem like we have as many biters as we did. Maybe they are finally going to die off.” She says.

  “I’m sorry about Mr. Coleman. Did he turn?” Marc asks.

  “Hell no. He was on the roof nailing shingles back on and fell off. He broke his neck when he hit the ground and died instantly. The man was 86 years old and worked right up to his death. I managed to get him to a pyre and have a small funeral for him; then I burned his body. He always wanted to be cremated, so I did that for him.” She says.

  “Sorry for your loss.” We all tell her.

  “Mrs. Coleman? Do you know any people who are sick, but not zombies yet? People that may have the flu or just seem to be sick and getting sicker?” Diane asks her.

  She appears to think for a second, and then says, “Yes. I do.”

  “If you leave my drive and take a left, there is a man living in a house that looks like it is deserted. Mr. Coleman checked on him a few times. Said the man was sick, like he had the flu. I can’t remember his name. My memory is not what it used to be. But he wouldn’t leave his house. I think he may still be there unless that flu killed him.” She says.

  “Are you sure he wasn’t turning into a zombie?” Diane asks her.

  “Of course, not dear. I’m not sure. He could be the Pope of Greenwich Village by now for all I know.” Mrs. Coleman says.

  “Ahh. A sarcastic sense of humor.” I say.

  Diane elbows me.

  “Thank you Mrs. C. I think we will go down and check on him and see what is going on.” Diane says.

  Mrs. C nods at us.

  “Do you know who she is talking about?” I ask Marc.

  He shakes his head no.

  “Well, shit.” I say.

  We all get back into the truck and head out of the drive.

  I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m a little worried about what we may find when we get to this unknown man’s house.

  Chapter 7

  “I really don’t know if we will find anything, or anyone, here.” I say.

  “I mean; it has been a while since she has seen him; so he may be dead.” I say.

  “We have to check.” Diane says.

  We come upon a driveway, well, a small pathway, that looks to lead to a house. There is a barbed wire fence on each side of the path, and the weeds and grass have taken over almost. The tree limbs are hanging down in the path, and it sort of looks like a tunnel. This is creepy already.

  “Well, from the looks of the weeds, he may not be here anymore.” Marc says.

  “Yeah. Or dead.” I say.

  We continue down the drive and soon come to a small, white clapboard house. The yard is overgrown, and grass is growing up through the slats of the porch.

  “This doesn’t look promising.” Bobby says.

  We all agree.

  The dr
ive goes all the way up to the side of the house where there is an unattached garage, with a red Chevrolet truck parked in it. We pull up a few feet behind the truck and look around. No movement anywhere.

  Marc opens his door and gets out.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” He asks.

  No response.

  Bobby gets out and looks around. I stay in the truck because I am in no mood for running if we have to.

  “Should I go to the door?” Marc asks.

  “I’ll be behind you.” Bobby tells him.

  They both start walking toward the front door.

  “If he is a zombie now, he must be trapped inside the house, or he would have come to the noise. If he isn’t a zombie, he may have succumbed to the illness he had.” I tell Diane.

  “I know we need to find someone that we can try and help. I really hope this vaccine works. It could be the key to slowing down the progression at least, even if it isn’t a cure. We need some hope.” Diane says.

  Marc steps onto the porch, and his first step lands him right on a broken plank, and of course it makes a very loud crack.

  “Really man? Pay attention.” Bobby tells Marc, smiling.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to fall through. Look at this shit. All the planks are rotted. If I fall through, I’m going to be pissed.” Marc says.

  Finally, Marc gets to the door, stretches his hand out to knock, then I see him flinch as he almost touches the door.

  “Something is wrong.” I say.

  “Why?” Diane asks.

  “Because, Marc started to knock, then he stopped. Bobby is frozen in his tracks, and Marc still has his arm in the position of someone about to knock on a door.” I say.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Diane says.

  I start to slide out of the truck, and Bobby turns to look at me and shakes his head no.

  “There is someone in there.” I say.

  “Mrs. Coleman sent us down to check on you. She said you had been sick before her husband passed away and she didn’t know if you were better or not.” Marc says.

  “Uh huh.” The man says from behind the door.

  “Look, we come to see about you. I’m Burrell’s son. I’m a Graham. I know you know the family.” Marc says.

  “Yep. You’re right about that. I do know the Graham family, but how do I know you are one of them?” The man asks.

  “Show him your license.” Diane says.

  I stare at her. Not really believing that she thinks we all still carry a license around. Why? Who’s going to put us in jail? We don’t even have police officers around anymore. Well, let me correct that. We don’t have legitimate police officers around anymore.

  “Are you serious?” I ask her.

  “Yeah. Why?” She asks.

  “Do you still carry your license?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “And I bet you still have a copy of your expired car insurance cards in there too, right?” I say.

  She stares at me blankly.

  “We are going to clean out your purse when we get home.” I say.

  “My grandparents were Otis and Ruby. They live about three miles from here. He was a farmer all his life.” Marc says.

  “Burrell, my father, used to paint cars and do upholstery work.” Marc tells the man.

  “Keep going.” The man tells Marc.

  “He and I have horses. We used to go on trail rides before the zombies came.” Marc says.

  “Pretty soon, Marc will have told him his whole life story.” I say.

  Diane nods.

  “Why are you here?” The man asks.

  “To check and see if you were still alive. That’s the truth. And to see if you are still sick if you were alive.” Marc says.

  We hear a lock click and the barrel of a shotgun slowly slides out of the door which he has partially opened.

  I can see Bobby tense his legs as the gun barrel slides out.

  “We will lower our gun if you will lower yours.” Marc says.

  Bobby lowers the gun and points it down at the ground. The door slowly slides open a little farther, and the gun lowers.

  Diane and I are staring at the door. Then a man walks out who looks to be about six and a half feet tall, short gray hair, and wearing a robe.

  You can tell he’s sick by his pale skin. He looks to be skin and bones. There isn’t much muscle left in him as you can see his collar bones protruding from the open robe.

  “Well, I would say he is sick.” I tell Diane.

  “Yeah, I do believe you’re right.” She says.

  “I’m Marc and this is my uncle, Bobby.” Marc says.

  “But, he’s a black man. The old man says.

  Marc snorts out a laugh.

  “I’m married to his aunt.” Bobby says.

  The old man laughs.

  “I thought I was seeing things for a minute. My eyes are going out on me.” He says.

  “I’m Bo Radley.” The old man says.

  “Wait a minute. I remember that name in a book I read once. Only the name was Boo Radley. And it was a dog’s name.” I tell Diane.

  She looks at me smiling.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “You and all those books.” Diane says.

  “Well, I love to read. Maybe you should try it.” I say sarcastically.

  Diane and I get out of the truck and stand by the door.

  “Mr. Radley, we just wanted to see how you are. I can see you’re sick. I was hoping to ask you a few questions to see how you have been feeling.” Diane says.

  Mr. Radley motions us to the porch. He walks out and sits on the swing.

  “I’ve been sick almost since this shit started. It got worse over the last few months. It seems like my eyesight is going now. Some days I can see decently, and some days I can’t. My wife turned into a walker. I had to put her down about a week after the onset. I’ve tried over the counter medicine she had stocked up on before this plague came, but it doesn’t help much.” Mr. Radley says.

  “Mr. Radley, I think you may have toxoplasmosis. It only gets worse the longer it stays with you. It’s one of the causes of this plague. It interacted with the flu vaccines that were given out. We already had a toxoplasmosis outbreak going around, but the doctors thought it was the flu, so they started giving flu shots, and the flu shot mutated the Toxo parasite into the zombie virus.” Diane says.

  “I see the government finally screwed us good, didn’t they?” Mr. Radley says.

  I smile.

  “We have a vaccine. We aren’t sure that it will work, but it was made to control the Toxo parasite. If we can control the parasite, we may see fewer sick people in the area. Toxoplasmosis is treatable, but not if you have had the flu vaccine. And I’m assuming you haven’t as you aren’t a zombie yet.” Diane says.

  “No, I didn’t get that shot. I told my wife not to, but she didn’t listen, like she ever listened to me anyway. Then she got sick.” He says.

  “We can give you the vaccine. Like I said before, I’m not sure it will work, but left untreated, the toxoplasmosis parasite will eventually kill you.” Diane tells him.

  Mr. Radley stands there appearing to be deep in thought.

  “So, I can either die a slow death from the parasite, or, risk taking the vaccine and maybe have a quicker death if it doesn’t work. Or, maybe it will work and I can get over this sickness?” He asks Diane.

  “I think that about sums it up Mr. Radley.” Diane says.

  “If I have to live out my life getting sicker by the day, I’d rather die now. Little lady, give me that vaccine. I don’t see any reason not to take it. Like I said, I’d rather die now than be sick for the rest of what days I have left.” He says.

  “Are you sure?” Diane asks him.

  He nods.

  Well, I think we have our first volunteer.

  Chapter 8

  Diane gives Mr. Radley his vaccine. I’m on pins and needles as we don’t know how it will affect him. It should clear up the toxo
plasmosis parasite, but we aren’t one hundred percent sure on that.

  After the injection, he stands there looking at Diane for a few seconds, then drops to the ground. I immediately think we have killed him earlier than he was meant to die.

  “Holy shit. Is he dead?” I ask Diane.

  She shakes her head no.

  “He’s still breathing. Give me a watch so I can measure his pulse rate.” Diane says.

  Marc hands his watch over.

  “His pulse is strong.” Diane says.

  “Did Doc happen to tell you any of the side effects we may see?” I ask her.

  “Of course not.” She says.

  “Good ole Doc.” I say.

  Mr. Radley opens his eyes and looks around.

  “Man, that was an ass kicker.” He says.

  “Do you feel ok?” Diane asks him.

  “No worse than I did. No better. Did you say this should get rid of the parasite?” He asks.

  Diane nods.

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait and see if it clears up.” Mr. Radley says.

  “If it works, you should start feeling better in a day or two. It won’t work overnight, but you should be able to see improvements day by day.” Diane says.

  “Yeah. Thank you kindly. Is someone going to come back and check on me?” Mr. Radley asks.

  “Yeah. I’ll come back.” Marc says.

  Mr. Radley nods.

  “Mr. Radley, do you know if there is anyone else close by that has been sick?” Marc asks.

  “Nah. I haven’t been able to get out too much lately. I can’t help you on that son. I can tell you to head over to Matthew’s Road. There were a few people left in that area a couple of months ago. I can’t say for sure now though.” He says.

  “Thanks. I’ll come back by in a day or two and check on you.” Marc tells him.

  Mr. Radley nods.

  “Thank you folks. Much appreciated.” He says.

  We all say our goodbyes and head back to the truck.

  Matthew’s Road used to be a partially paved, country back road when we were growing up. There were only a few houses on that road and a lot of woods. I haven’t seen that area in 25 years or more, so I’m not sure what we are in for. Of course, Marc knows the area, but I like to know what I’m walking into on occasion.