Harold stepped up to Alex, brandishing the uselessly large knife he had when Alex had first seen him. The man twisted the knife in the air and looked closely at its tip.
“You dumb shit, you should of just taken his offer,” Harold said, his black beard making his face appear invisible in the darkness. “All this cause you had to be a prick. Had to go rocking the boat.”
“Fuck you,” Alex said, so separated from the reality of the situation that he felt no fear. His heartbeat was calm.
“Tell you what,” Harold said, smiling a disgusting grin. “When I’m done with you...” He leaned in close to Alex’s head and whispered into his ear, “I’ll take care of your girlfriend for you.”
Alex’s body was flushed with emotion, his anger turned into pure, unflinching rage. His eyes enlarged with the white, hot fury that burst from his lungs. He released a scream so feral and animal-like that the walls in the room shook in terror. His mouth stretched open with the scream and Harold's head lunged to the side, allowing Alex to sink his teeth into Harold's neck. Veins twisted and broke between his teeth. The muscle he bit into became slippery when the blood flushed into his mouth. He dug his teeth in as deep as he could and clenched them closed, tearing his face away with streams of Harold's neck hanging from his mouth.
Alex’s ear rang with deafness from the squeal that Harold had shrieked inches from his head. Alex watched the man fall to the ground, dropping the knife as he reached for his neck, trying uselessly to stop the spray of red fluid that gushed from the opening. Alex spit out the hunk of flesh in his mouth and started wrenching his body to the side, hoping he could reach the knife on the seat next to him.
“You… little shit…” Harold managed to say, blood spitting up from his mouth with every word. His breath gurgled in the liquid. “You fucking killed me... you...” Harold fell to the ground, blood still spewing from the broken veins, collecting in a large pool under the still body.
Alex struggled harder, letting the rope dig deeper into his arms, the tips of his fingers touched the knife handle, and he managed to spin it a bit closer. His eyes flashed between the knife and the body on the ground. The body that he saw start to twitch. His hand inched closer up the hilt as he bent each finger at the knuckle, trying to pull the blade closer to him. Harold’s arm started to flop around in the blood, splattering the thick fluid across the floor. Alex got his finger around the handle and pulled it closer, trying to flip the blade upright so he could slice it against the rope. Harold’s head lifted from the floor, his beard drenched in blood and his lifeless eyes staring straight ahead. Alex pushed the blade up and down, feeling the fibers of the rope split underneath, slowly. Harold’s head turned toward Alex and he let out a hissing scream, causing more blood to spray from his neck. His arms reached out as he tried to stand up in the slippery pool of blood. He reached for Alex, but fell over trying to right his awkwardly moving body. As Harold stood up and leaned forward, his teeth starting to gnash the air as he leaned in toward Alex, the rope around Alex’s wrists broke free. Alex brought the knife up in a tight stab, smashing the tip of the blade into Harold’s jaw, driving the wide blade up through his mouth and then deep into his brain.
Harold’s lifeless body fell to its knees and then forward, dropping Harold’s skewered head right in Alex’s lap. With a quick shove the body fell to the ground and Alex tried to wrench the blade from out of Harold’s skull. After bracing the head against the floor, he yanked the blade out. He cut his legs free and started tiptoeing toward the door. He counted in his head how many men he was about to kill.
“I would kill the world if it meant she would live,” he thought. “I would kill them all.”
Day 43
1:53 am
The blade felt heavy, yet solid in Alex’s hand. He kept his flashlight turned off, inching along the wall of the hallway, toward the direction of the main doors that led out into the electronics department. He inched closer to the managerial offices until he saw the flare of a flashlight beam flicker out the window on one of the doors. He flattened himself against the wall and stepped closer to the door.
He heard someone mumble something, and then heard a smack, like a fist hitting flesh. He leaned into the doorway, peeking around the corner through his swelled eye.
In the middle of the room, Morgan was tied to an office chair. Her arms and legs each tied to a leg of the metal furniture. With a leather belt in his hand was Jesse the toothless man, walking around her in a circle.
“Bet you're scared now, eh girlie?” Jesse said this in a sinister whisper. “Bet you're hoping your boyfriend takes the deal, huh?” Jesse struck out with the belt, whipping Morgan’s back. Her shirt was covered in slashes, her skin broken open by the vicious lashings.
Alex, suddenly struck with a surge of fearlessness, stepped into the room, walking confidently toward Jesse. The toothless, skinny man was shocked for a moment and raised his arm so he could bring his belt down to strike Alex. Alex reached up, grabbing Jesse’s arm with his left hand and stabbing the large knife into Jesse’s stomach with his right hand.
Jesse’s eyes bulged from his head when he looked down, and he saw the blood flowing from his stomach. Alex only held the knife there for a moment, yanking it out and stabbing it back in, over and over.
Jesse fell to the floor silently, too shocked to scream. The last breath fell from his body as Alex brought the knife down, crushing Jesse’s skull under the massiveness of the blade.
“Alex?” Morgan mumbled, her voice sounding shattered.
“It’s me.” His words sounded weak and awkward through his swollen lips. His fingers shook as he tried to be gentle with her ropes. He did not want to inflict any more pain upon her.
“Alex. Thank you.”
“What did they-” He knew he did not want to know.
When he freed her arms they immediately wrapped around her stomach and she crouched over, tightening the grip she held on herself and her unborn child.
Her voice quivered, each letter of each word making her tone flutter. “They just kept hitting me. They hit my belly.”
Alex reached out his hand and placed it on Morgan’s head. He let his fingers wrap around on all sides. One of her arms reached up and she grabbed his wrist. With a tug she pulled his hand down onto her belly.
“I’m going to save you. I’m going to save you both.”
“Alex, you don’t need to save us.”
His heart tried to believe her. His mind wanted revenge.
“Let’s sneak out the emergency doors in the back,” Morgan said, lifting herself off the chair. “We can sneak around the building and find a car.” Her face was swollen and plump, her skin broke open in gouges and cuts that would leave a permanent scar.
Alex looked down at the knife in his hand. The blade was jagged and still dripped with blood. He wanted to cut the smile off of Owen’s face.
Morgan’s hand lay gently on Alex’s hand that gripped the knife so tightly. His face, still covered in the blood of Harold’s neck, looked up into her eyes, which soothed the pain in his mind. The look she gave him, one of pure weakness, showed him something inside her that she rarely exposed to anyone. He saw the soft, inner child that desperately needed strength. He saw the woman that was frightened and wanted only to turn and run. He saw the beaten and frail person that needed to fall into his arms and weep.
“What about-”
“Forget them,” Morgan said, her eyes sharp with intensity. “Forget all of them. It’s me and you. Me and you.”
“And me,” a voice said from the doorway, its shape silhouetted behind a bright flashlight. Alex knew the voice. The soft, warm voice that boiled hatred inside him.
“Owen.”
Owen slid the slide action of the shotgun Alex had brought with, loading a round in the chamber, ready to fire. He took two steps into the room, showing no fear of Alex, or Morgan.
“You couldn’t just go along with the plan, could you?” His voice dropped all pretenses of his grandf
atherly ways. There was spite and anger dripping from his teeth. “You couldn’t just let us be happy?”
“Is that what you call this?” Morgan’s mouth bled with pain. “How long did you really think this was going to last?”
“Long enough,” Owen said, raising his shotgun. “And it will continue. Without you.”
“No,” Alex growled, lunging at the old man.
Owen lifted the gun and pulled the trigger instinctively as Alex wrapped his fingers around the end of the barrel. The blast of the gun rocked the walls of the room, deafening Alex. The shell only grazed his side. Alex pushed the gun away from him and brought his knife up at Owen’s chest. Owen fell backwards, and the blade sliced along him, opening his flannel shirt and digging into his flesh.
Alex tried to wrestle the gun away from Owen, but he refused to loosen his grip. Alex slashed out again, this time the blade dug deep into the old man’s shoulder. Owen yelped out in pain and then pulled the shotgun close to him so that the barrel once again pointed at Alex. With a quick jerk of the slide, another round was chambered and Owen pulled the trigger. The blast tore apart Alex’s leg and he fell backwards, his hand letting go of the barrel.
Owen brought the gun up, ready to unleash another blast into Alex when he felt a leather belt wrap around his neck. The leather tightened and his neck bled from the pressure. The air trapped in his lungs pushed at the walls of his chest.
He brought the shotgun up into the air and then lunged backwards with his elbow, trying to slam it into his attacker. Morgan pulled the belt tighter. Owen hacked, drool spilling from his mouth. He chambered another round, and Morgan gripped harder onto the belt. She slammed her knee into his spine and pushed down on Owen's back. He fell to the floor, the shotgun spinning across the office tile.
Owen continued spitting, as more and more blood joined his saliva on the floor in front of his face. His head filled with pressure and soon the old man fell slack, consciousness slipping away.
Morgan only let go of the belt when she heard Alex groan as he tried to stand up.
“Are you-” She managed to get out as she rushed to his side.
“I’m okay.” He was wrapping Jesse's shirt around his leg. It looked bad. “I just… we need to get out of here. They must of heard the gunshots.”
Morgan looked up when she heard a scream come from the hallway. There, standing in the doorway of the office, was Rhonda, Norman, and Gary. They started to move toward Owen when Morgan leaned down and picked up the shotgun, raising the barrel at their chests.
“Get out of our way,” she said, her voice sounding like it rumbled from deep within her.
The group in the hallway did not move.
She lowered the barrel, pointing it at the twitching body of Owen. With a tug of the trigger, the shotgun flattened his entire head against the floor, turning Owen’s face into nothing more than a thin splatter.
The group stepped back, gasping.
Morgan chambered another round and kept the gun trained on all of them as she made her way out of the office. Alex kept close to her, dragging his leg behind.
The group of survivors whispered to each other as Morgan and Alex made their way into the front of the store, near the electronics department. With shrill screams, Morgan made them stand together, so she could keep her eyes on all of them. Some of them discharged curses at the two of them, while others begged for forgiveness.
Alex and Morgan heard nothing.
Even the looks of fear on the children’s faces did nothing to move them. They only thought of each other.
Alex found gauze for his leg and collected supplies, while Morgan kept the shotgun pointed at the group. It took him a long time to move about the store, but Morgan did not mind. She glared into the eyes of all the people willing to hurt her. To hurt Alex. To hurt her baby.
She pictured each one, dying at the end of her barrel.
Alex finally gathered up four backpacks, stuffed with goods. By that point the survivors had learned the futility of their arguments and were saying nothing.
Morgan and Alex made their way to the front of the store. Alex slowly climbed the wall of shelves while Morgan kept watch. When he reached the top, Morgan tossed the gun to him and began to ascend. None of the men and women they had been living with sprung from the darkness to stop them.
The parking lot was still filled with corpses, but only a few were still able to move. Even those still upright only staggered and shuffled their way through the debris, barely able to match the speed of the one-legged Alex.
Morgan ran in between the cars, looking in each one and checking the doors, trying to find ones that were unlocked. Once and awhile she was forced to swing the stock of the shotgun at a corpse’s head before moving on.
It took her a few minutes, each one creeping on longer than the last. Alex felt a sinking feeling with each car she passed. She would walk away from each one, holding up her hands to show there was no way to start it. Seeing this over and over, he began to lose hope.
Finally, her hands tossed into the air and she ran across the lane to a small red pick-up truck. She fumbled with something in the door and then held up her hand to show keys.
“They were still in the door,” she yelled before swinging her shotgun and clobbering another zombie.
Alex hobbled across the parking lot and caught up to her as she was climbing into the driver’s seat. He lifted himself into the passenger seat and slammed the door, biting his lip with anxiety as she turned the key.
The engine sputtered and died. He watched a group of corpses start to gather around the car. She turned the key again, this time stomping on the gas. The engine roared to life, revving powerfully with every press of the gas.
“Half of a tank,” she said, dropping the gearshift into reverse.
The truck whipped out of the parking spot, knocking over two walking corpses that had gathered near the back. Morgan put the truck in drive and stomped on the gas, knocking over body after body as they sped straight toward the exit.
When the truck turned onto US-8, she let off the gas, bringing the vehicle to a slower pace. Alex looked down at his bloody leg and knew he would need to replace the bandage soon. He wasn’t sure how much blood he had lost, but he knew it was too much. He pushed the shotgun out of the way and slid across the bench seat in the truck cab. He set his head on Morgan’s shoulder and watched the sun start to rise in front of them.
Alex said in a whisper next to her ear, “We survived.”
Day 43
8:37 am
On the road in front of the truck the summer day was almost welcoming, with streets fairly clear of bodies and only the random need to circumvent an abandoned vehicle. The truck skimmed down the highway, letting wind into the open windows that blew Morgan’s hair around uncontrollably. She leaned back in her seat and let her hair get tossed around, accepting it as beautiful chaos. A flock of birds dashed into the air as the truck roared close to them on the highway, and the sky was black with wings, causing Morgan to feel guilty for disturbing their nature.
The road trip was absent of speech. Alex and Morgan held hands across the seat and stared at the world around them, marveling in the beauty of its emptiness. The sun embraced the naked world.
Dusk drew near as the truck passed the sign reading Wausau, Wisconsin, the home of Alex's parents. The streets of the small town were empty except for the occasional pile of decayed flesh and bones. Newspapers blew across the pavement like tumbleweeds.
Morgan pulled up to the apartment building that Alex’s mother had moved into after the divorce. Windows were open on every floor, some broken. Corpses littered the stairs leading to the front door of the building.
“I’m coming with you,” Morgan said, matter-of-factly.
“I know you are,” Alex said, squeezing her hand in his. They both climbed out of the truck, Morgan holding the shotgun and Alex carrying a flashlight.
“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” he reminded her as they both stepp
ed into the dark building.
Alex turned on the flashlight and the beam cut down the hallway. His leg seized with pain every time he stepped down on it, but his mind pushed him forward. He stepped slowly, crunching debris under each footstep, walking carefully toward his mother’s apartment.
His heart sank when he saw the door hanging open.
The inside looked like most interiors looked. There was dried blood splattered randomly throughout the house. There were decayed corpses that were impossible to identify.
In her bedroom, he found a pile of bones strung together with dry flesh, dressed in a flannel nightgown he knew was hers. His eyes wanted to cry, so he let them, releasing the pain of not knowing her fate. She was curled up on her bed, looking somewhat peaceful. He tired to imagine what happened, but turned away, accepting he would never know.
“Let’s go.” He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.
“Alex. I’m sorry,” Morgan said, leaning into hug him.
He accepted her embrace, assuring her, “I know. I know.”
The truck weaved its way through the town and out onto the country road that led toward his father’s house.
“Are you ready for this?” Morgan asked, her voice quiet.
Alex didn’t answer, but continued to stare straight ahead while she drove. The silence was not as deafening as it used to be. She could see in his face. The turning of gears, not the blank stare she had almost gotten used to.
When the truck pulled into the driveway and around the large tree that sat in the front yard, hiding the front of the house, Alex saw his father’s door broken in. Morgan gasped, sympathetic to the double pain Alex felt. She could see the fear and failure of defeat in his eyes as the tears forming in them sparkled in the sunlight. She pressed on the brake and moved the gear into park. She lifted her hand to turn the key and turn off the engine, but Alex’s hand shot out and stopped her.
“Leave it running, I’ll just be a minute.”
After Life Page 17
