Rune aimed and fired, killing three zombies still blocking his path. Their bodies crumpled to the ground. The Harley exited the garage at a quick clip, trailing in the wake of the truck. The undead were scattered across the drive, twisting about in confusion as the big metal beast sped past them. A few lunged toward the truck, drawing them closer to the path Rune had to take. It was hard to shoot the zombies and ride the bike, but Rune didn’t aim for almost impossible killing shots, but ones that would cripple the zombies and send them to the ground. A shattered femur or hip worked just fine.
Unholy screeches filled the air as the faster, healthier zombies tore out of the trees. Their bloodied forms were terrifyingly swift. Rune’s grip tightened on the Glock as he pressed the heel of his hand against the bars of the bike to keep his bike steady. The gates to the outside world yawned open ahead and the truck accelerated. Rune increased his speed, trying to keep an eye on the drive ahead and the zombies galloping toward him from all sides.
One large zombie, who resembled a football player, lunged for Rune. The monster was so close that when Rune shoved his Glock at the creature’s head, he could see the vivid tears on its cheek and feel the pressure of the barrel against flesh as he fired. The zombie’s head jerked back, but its momentum continued into the bike, pushing Rune off balance. The motorcycle shimmied dangerously, but Rune expertly adjusted his equilibrium to keep the bike from crashing. A less experienced biker would have definitely taken a bad spill. Briefly bringing down one foot to steady himself, Rune accelerated away from the zombies closing in on him. The runners were right on him, pacing the bike, their hands slashing out, attempting to grab him. He didn’t dare waste time trying to shoot them, so he gunned the engine, speeding up. The bike caught up to the truck just as it passed through the gates. The undead were scattered across the road, but not in the numbers descending on the house.
The stench of death and blood filled the night. Tito rammed the truck into a tight cluster of zombies near the gate, pulverizing them under the wheels. Rune deftly avoided the smear of gore left in the wake of the tires. The Harley growled as he sped past the grasping undead. In his mirrors he saw some of the faster ones giving pursuit, but they soon dropped behind.
Rune rode alongside the truck for a few miles through the open countryside. The road cleared of the zombies the further out they traveled from the house. Too close to the interstate and far too visible perched on the hilltop, it had been a potential death trap even though it had provided temporary shelter and supplies. Rune would remember those lessons.
After twenty minutes, Tito parked the truck at a crossroads and Rune stopped near him.
Rolling down the window, Tito hooked his arm over the windowsill and peered out at the biker. “You sure you don’t want to head out with me?”
Rune somberly shook his head. “I have to keep my promise to my daughter.”
Tito sighed, but nodded. “I gotcha. I just hate leaving you out here on a Harley.”
“I’ll be fine.” Rune gave him a wide smile. “You go get your family and get to safety.”
“And you?”
Flickers of light in the trees drew Rune’s attention. “I have business to deal with.”
“You’re a weird fucker,” Tito decided, smirking.
“That I am. Take care, brother.”
The men clasped hands and shook.
“You too. Hopefully, I’ll never see your face again.” Tito’s meaning was clear.
“If any man’s got a chance of saving his family from a zombie-infested, city it’s you, Tito.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“Adios, amigo,” Rune said.
“Stay alive, Rune.” Tito shifted gears and the truck sped up the road.
Rune watched until the rear lights vanished around the bend before aiming his bike north and heading deeper into the hills.
Chapter 10
Rune was drunk. So drunk he could barely see or even stand. Yet, the dead would not let him be. They clustered around him, their fingers grasping at him in desperation.
“Leave me alone!” he roared.
As always, the dead didn’t listen, but only pressed in closer. The air around him was stale and freezing cold, his breath crystalizing each time he exhaled.
Staggering across the cabin, he waved his arm irritably, sloshing a good portion of the icy Jack Daniels across his arm and onto the floor. Tripping over the corner of the kitchen table, he half fell, half slumped into a chair. Cradling the liquor bottle against his chest, he bowed his head and whispered, “Please, just leave me alone.”
“You have to go to Eastland and see if my brother is okay. He must have hid in the attic when the zombies broke into the house.”
“My wife is in Dallas. I’m sure she’s okay. She’s not on this side. She’s a better shot than I am.”
“My kids were visiting their grandparents...”
A few of the ghosts managed to appear nearly solid, while others were mere wisps of shadow and light. He could feel their fingers clawing at his flesh, a sheen of frost forming on his exposed forearms.
“Back the fuck off!” he shouted.
For nearly two months Rune had stayed sequestered in the cabin far away from any vestiges of the human world. It had been weeks since he had seen a zombie and even longer since he’d seen a living, breathing person. He’d found the cabin at the end of a long, winding dirt road buried in the Texas Hill Country. It had been a godsend. Stocked for hunting season, it had provided him with ample supplies, allowing him to avoid salvaging runs. The full liquor cabinet had been an added bonus, but he hadn’t started imbibing so heartily until the first of the ghosts had arrived.
The ghostly invasion had started with the former owner of the cabin. Confused and believing himself to be alive, he’d awakened Rune in the dead of night by yanking him out of bed and yelling at him. It had taken Rune hours to convince the ghost of his new nature. Then he’d had to endure the man sobbing for days in the living room. After a week, the ghost had departed, much to Rune’s relief. Within a few hours, other spirits began to appear.
The one thing Rune hated about the spirit world was how fast word traveled.
“My brother is at Fort Hood. He thinks I’m alive and is trying to rescue me. You have to let him know that I’m dead and so are my husband and kids. We were at the mall when...”
“My parents are scared, mister. They’re crying all the time. Please tell them not to cry. Grandma is with me...”
“It’s not fair! Why am I dead? I prepared for this shit! I had a fully stocked shelter under the house! Why the hell did I go on vacation?”
Rune pressed his forehead to the wooden table, his hands laced behind his neck. He was shivering so violently the chair he was perched on was rattling.
“Can you go check on my husband? He’s in Georgia.”
“Lady, don’t make him go to another state. He has to check on Texans!”
“My husband is from Texas. He was on a business trip!”
“I want my mommy! Where is my mommy?”
“We were pinned down on all sides. We couldn’t get out. Do you understand? We were running out of ammo and they just kept coming!”
Rune smashed his fists down on the table. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”
Silence filled the cabin. It was so abrupt he thought he’d passed out for a second. Slowly, he raised his head. His brain spun about in his skull before settling again. Across from him sat an old timer. Thin, a little craggy around the jowls, and sporting a steady gaze, the man gave him a brief nod.
“Wha-wha-what?”
“You have to move on, Rune. You’ve been here too long. I know you think it’s safe. It’s not. You gotta keep moving, son.”
Matted, dirty tendrils of silver hair hung in Rune’s face as he gaped at the man. “Huh?”
The older man reached across the table and tugged the nearly empty bottle from Rune’s grip. “Time to move on, Rune. Your purpose is not to sit in this
cabin. Poisoning your liver. Going crazy. Your purpose is out there.” The man nodded toward the front door. “You need to keep moving. You need to keep alive.”
“Fuckin’ ghosts always trying to tell me what to do,” Rune growled irritably. He feebly swiped for the bottle.
The old man kept it out of Rune’s grasp. “Why are you a medium, Rune?”
“It’s a family curse.”
“Or a blessing. You’re supposed to use it.”
“Too many dead now. Too many ghosts. And they don’t listen, or move on.”
“True.” The older man crossed his arms across his thin chest and sighed. “They’re confused. Scared. Lost. That will change. They’ll move on like I did.”
“You an angel?”
“Messenger. And they’ll be others like me. You’ll know us when you see us.”
“Messengers for what?”
“We’re trying to save the world, Rune. We may be dead, but we’re not done. Watch for us.”
“I’m drunk. I won’t remember none of this.”
“Yes, you will. Now, go to sleep. Sober up. Tomorrow, you need to leave. Take the nearest country road south. Tomorrow someone is going to need your help. Someone who’s important.”
Rubbing his chin, the bristles of his scrubby beard scratched at Rune’s fingers. “Old timer, I’m sick of all this shit. I’m no Roland. I’m no gunslinger. I’m just a man with a bike and a curse.”
The old man stood, leaving the bottle on the table. “You know that ain’t true, Rune.”
“Do I?”
“Yep. You do. Now, you’ll get some respite from the others. We’re holding them back so you can rest. But come tomorrow, you best move on. They’ll lose track of you for a bit.”
“Fine,” Rune relented. He needed the sleep urgently. He’d play nice with his mysterious messenger if it meant some peace.
The older man headed toward the front door, his cowboy boots thumping across the floorboards despite his slowly dissipating form.
“You got a message for someone?” Rune asked on impulse.
The old man looked back at Rune, smiled, and shook his head. “Nope. Nerit knows I love her. And she’s doing fine. You just take care.”
Then Rune was alone.
Chapter 11
Rune had just finished dressing after a very cold shower when the first of the ghosts reappeared. Ignoring the dappled light that hovered over him, he used the last of the fuel from the generator to fill the bike’s tank. Rune focused on getting back on the road, resolved to ignore the ghostly assaults.
The old timer had been right. When he’d awakened in the morning, he’d remembered every word the old man said. Also, he had no doubt that the old man had been a messenger. In retrospect, Rune realized the visitor didn’t bear the grievous wounds of death, a sure sign he’d moved on, then returned. Most of the spirits Rune had encountered since the beginning of the end of the world had been lost souls. The old timer was definitely not lost.
Shrugging off the grip of one persistent ghost, Rune collected the last of his possessions and packed his bags. The leather was stretched taut over all the items he’d shoved inside, but they’d stay closed once he buckled the strap. He felt guilty about not keeping Charlene up to her usual glory. The leather needed to be treated and the chrome needed a good polish.
“I’ll take care of you,” Rune said to the bike. He never felt foolish talking to Charlene. The bike wasn’t an organic creature, but she was imbued with spirit. Or so he liked to think.
Tugging on his gloves, Rune surveyed the quiet area around the cabin. If he were another sort of man, maybe this would have been a good spot to hunker down, but he wasn’t like other people. He never had been normal. He had the gift to see the departed, and this new world wouldn’t allow him to forget it.
“If you could please just check on my husband,” a woman whispered, grabbing his handlebars. Her fingers were nearly tangible.
Fitting his goggles over his eyes, Rune revved the engine.
“Do you know where my mommy is?”
Hesitating, Rune glanced down at the small shadowy form near his leg. “Go into the light, honey. Go into the light.”
Breaking free of the touch of the ghosts, Rune aimed the bike up the dirt road and gunned it. It hadn’t rained in weeks and the ground was cracked and dry. Thick plumes of dust rose behind him as he zoomed along the winding road. Through the thick copse of trees lining the road he caught an occasional glimpse of a startled deer. Birds chirped in the boughs, occasionally giving flight when Rune rode beneath their roost. The world around him felt peaceful. It was rather unnerving.
Rune hit the main road nearly an hour later and directed his bike toward the country road the old timer had told him about. After splitting off from Tito, Rune had hidden himself from the world. He’d seen enough during the first day of the fall of humankind. Now the remains of that world were sad memorials. A burned out farmhouse sat in the wake of a downed private jet. Cars were discarded on the side of the road, their interiors smeared with dried blood and viscera. Decaying bodies littered the shoulder, vultures picking at the remains. Rune spotted one or two houses off the road, the windows boarded up with the only sign of movement being the zombies shambling along the exteriors. Spray painted messages, already fading in the harsh Texas sunlight, decorated signs, trees, and even the asphalt.
It was clear that he had missed the final, intense death throes of a human population seeking sanctuary. He shivered despite the heat of the day and the sun hovering high overhead. In the past few weeks, Rune had lived with the guilt of his passivity. His vow to his daughter to avoid San Antonio was one he held sacred, yet he felt he had abandoned Tito and his family. It had been weeks now with no spectral appearance by Tito, and Rune hoped that meant he had been successful in his rescue mission. Now, as he cruised past the remains of the desperate escape of attempts of so many, he wondered if he should have stayed out on the open road. Could he have saved some of those who now lay dead, or wandered the world as mindless creatures?
The bike soared up the winding road, cresting a hill, and the valley below came into breathtaking view. The trees were lush with green foliage and the golden wild grass swayed in the wind. The tall sign to a gas station hovered over the tree line. Rune wasn’t well acquainted with the route he was taking and he tried to remember if the gas station was near a populated area. Rune was just bringing the bike to a stop so he could take a moment to weigh his options when he heard the harsh crack of a rifle being fired. The startled squawks of birds rising out of the trees filled the air while their shadows dotted the road, adding an otherworldly feel to his surroundings.
Again the rifle fired.
Rune remembered the words of the old timer. “Okay, this must be what I’m supposed to do.” Tugging one of his Glocks out of its holster, he accelerated forward.
Another curve in the road brought him closer to the gas station. He surveyed the area thoroughly as he hurtled toward his destination. There were small houses and trailers (also known as manufactured homes to the city folk) tucked behind a thick line of trees that bordered the property of the gas station. A few of the undead fuckers were caught in the barbed wire fence strung along the back of the parking lot, but there was a large crowd gathered around a monster truck parked under the canopy. The zombies crowded the bed of the pickup, three deep, grasping and clawing at someone standing over them wielding a baseball bat like a mace. Over and over again the person smashed in the heads of the zombies, chunks of brain, bone, and blood flying into the air. A discarded rifle sat on the roof of the cab, the butt and strap partially visible where it hung over the edge. The truck was lifted high enough that the zombies were only able to slap their hands against the sides, but it was rocking enough to pose a real hazard to their prey.
As Rune drew closer he noted that the person was actually a woman. Dark hair braided and held back by a bandana, she stood with her legs planted firmly apart as she swung the bat with cruel efficienc
y. She was a petite thing, but her arms rippled with muscle each time she slammed the bat onto the head of a zombie. The truck bounced under the onslaught and she lost her balance a few times, but quickly recovered.
Stopping the bike near the entrance, Rune lifted his Glock, aimed, and began to kill the zombies one by one. He saw the woman give him a sharp look. She hesitated, then continued to smash away at the zombie heads.
The sound of the Glock firing drew the attention of the zombies. The undead looked very different from the first days. Their dark gray skin was ragged and leathery. Their hair was almost colorless it was so coated with filth. It was difficult to ascertain sex, age, and even race. Much to Rune’s relief, they were slow. Very, very slow. Stumbling toward him, they made easy targets. Yet, despite their slowness, there were a lot of them, which instantly made them dangerous. Rune kept firing until one Glock clicked empty, then drew his second one.
On the truck, the woman kept fighting the undead that were intent on reaching her. Grunting with exhaustion, she continued to lift the bat over her head, allowing gravity to drag it down with brutal power onto the skulls of her enemies.
The zombies were getting too close for comfort and forming a semi-circle as they hemmed Rune in. Still gripping his Glock, he rode the Harley past the rotting creatures to the far side of the gas station. All the zombies in the area appeared to be coming toward him or gathered around the truck. Reloading, Rune slid off the bike and opened fire on the zombies again. More gave up on the young woman and shambled after Rune.
Taking each shot carefully, Rune didn’t waste any of his precious ammo. He saw movement near the truck, but didn’t look away from the zombies shuffling purposefully toward him. They were relentless, unafraid, and terrifying. It was clear that they didn’t understand death. There was no sense of self-preservation. They were only motivated by the need to feed.
As The World Dies Untold Tales Volume 3 Page 6
