by catt dahman
“As soon as Misty is here, you go on to the last one,” Mark ordered Harold.
Matt jumped over to the last house and waited for Carl and Pak.
“I wish I hadn’t saved his ass,” Julia said, watching Harold.
“You got it, Jules? Okay, wish me luck.” Misty had a bad feeling. She ran and almost had it but was inches too short on her leap. Mark slammed to the roof, his air rushing out as he grabbed her hands. She stretched as she fell, trying to grab on.
“Give me some help,” Mark told Harold, wondering why he had to ask. Any of the rest would have already helped Misty.
Harold looked at his own bleeding palms and winced. “It hurts.”
“Harold.”
One of Misty’s hands slipped, and she stared up at Mark with raw fear. From the back yard, four zombies started her way. Mark could let her go and shoot them, or if Harold helped, he could get her up to the roof. No one could get a shot at them because of the angle.
“Harold,” Mark yelled. Julia yelled for him to help Mark as well, but he just looked at his own scraped hands. Matt looked as if he were going to leap back to help.
Misty fell hard; the grass was dry, and the ground was hard when she fell. To her shock, Harold came flying over the edge as well, landing between her and the four who were moaning and coming at her; he landed on his back and cried out.
Harold held his bleeding palms above himself. “Help me; get me back up.”
Julia couldn’t keep up with what all was going on. Everything was happening at once. She saw Misty come up short, Harold refused to help, and then she saw Misty fall. Next to her, Walt squeezed her arm, “Whatever happens, I know you did your best. I can’t make it across. Get Matt out of here.”
He took a few lumbering steps and vaulted over the side, cleared the fence, and landed in the yard of the other house, rolling with the fall.
Julia saw Harold plummet.
Three people were down in the next yard. How did this happen so fast? She looked to Mark for answers, but he was already in action. She needed to stop time and digest all this.
Slow down, she thought.
Big Bill flew past, thundering down onto the second house with grace, despite his size, and grabbed Mark’s sleeve; the two of them flew off of the porch roof. Pan followed, passing her.
Julia thought she might have imagined things. Why did they all leap and jump off the roof? But she saw what they did as they surfaced in the pool water, climbing out of the greenish water quickly; she still shuddered as she considered what might be rotting beneath that water. Waiting.
She kept her gun aimed in case anything surfaced and tried to get at her friends. Harold howled with pain, long screeches that hurt Julia’s head; it was horrible to hear anyone suffering like that.
The others shot at the four who feasted on Harold as he screamed. One had long intestines pulled out, chewing contentedly; another licked and nipped at the skin already red with blood from the shingles of the roof. A third almost delicately chewed at a finger she took off. The fourth got close to Misty who was at the gate and about to make a run for it.
Harold fought back weakly and cried pitifully for help, begging them to stop the pain, but no one reacted as they focused on Misty and Walt.
Walt landed in an untidy mess almost on top of Harold and the three zombies who clawed at him. Big Bill grabbed at Walt, yanking him out of the way of snapping jaws and pulled him along with brute strength. Mark reached Misty and helped her hobble as her knee refused to hold weight. Pan swung his gun like a bat, slamming them down as they made it out the gate.
Carl yelled. Pak and Manny were already in the truck and safe.
The monster truck was right there, having mowed down a dozen zombies. They had maybe two seconds before the horde would be all over them. Mark climbed up and tossed Misty into the back before he helped Big Bill dump Walt in beside her. They jumped in and helped haul Pan into the back.
Carl gunned the engine.
Big Bill and Pan leaned over the back and shot at those who tried to climb in. If they were in a lower truck, they would have been killed right there as the dead pressed in and against the vehicle.
Julia and Drake both jumped to the second house; Carl was frustrated, as he had to pull away from the house before he was over-run. “Jump again, or take the pool?” she asked him. She was amazed at how her team worked together and made it to the truck.
She glanced down to see Harold still clawing back at the zombies who were beginning to fill the yard. She shot him in the head and then began to shoot the others shambling in.
Drake went pale, remembering the last time something hid in the pool. The others didn’t get anything stirred up in the water, but the thought made him feel queasy. He didn’t know if he could make another jump; his body ached and stung from that jump, and he knew he made it only because Julia yanked him from the edge. She looked exhausted. “Go,” he said.
Julia took a leap that felt as if it used the last of her energy, but Matt was there to steady her. She teetered. As Carl drove back up into the yard, she and Matt jumped, landing in the back with bruising thuds. Matt yelped as his arm broke on impact.
Carl swung around, waiting to drive in for a third pick-up, but the zombies were thick, despite all who were shooting.
Drake looked at the roof and knew he couldn’t make the jump.
He ran and hit the water in a cannon ball, painfully bumping his tailbone on the bottom of the pool. His ankle broadcasted a glassy sharp pain. For a second, Drake panicked, thinking he did some serious damage or was attacked. He rose to the surface and realized it was just the sudden impact that hurt and that his palms and forearms were skinned from the first jump. They stung badly, and he shuddered as blood poured out to mingle with the pool water, swirling in a cloud.
Was anything in there with him? Was anything moving? Was a rotting corpse just waiting to grab him? In slow motion, Drake ran-swam his way to the ladder, cursing quietly as his raw palms touched the hot, sun-warmed metal of the ladder.
He worked at a home improvement store in the carpet section before all this. Drake went from having a job, wife, and baby to being alone, to hanging with Harold and his crew, to running from zombies.
He was the last of their group. Rebuilding a life was all he dreamed of. Reality was the moaning, bleeding, and running with fear tearing at him.
They heard his splash, and a bunch beat at the fence; it would be mere seconds before they knocked it down. He didn’t go toward Harold, who was left to rot there in the side yard with the rest of the corpses. He didn’t try for the gate where the rest got out. Instead, Drake limped to the back of the house and found the door unlocked, so he didn’t have to break in.
He didn’t smell any of them in the house.
It was almost more than he could manage, but he climbed up the stairs and went to a window that faced the street. Every bone in his body ached, his tailbone was most assuredly cracked since it thundered with pain, his skinned flesh felt like acid dripped onto it, and he was sure he sprained his ankle since it now began to throb and swell.
Carl was in his big monster truck. If they tried to come get him, they would be over run, and yet, he could see them talking and yelling, trying to figure out how to get him to safety. They saw him waving at them.
He motioned to them and pantomimed that he was bitten and was going to take care of himself.
He knew they were good people; they looked sad to hear that. He shrugged, motioned that they should go on, wished them luck, showed them the thumbs-up sign pointed at Julia and blew a kiss.
Pan mimicked catching the kiss and sent one back with a sad smile.
Drake laughed and did another thumbs up.
To his relief, they stopped for a second and then waved, turned around, and drove away. The horde below grew and still looked for them in George’s house.
It was not so bad that he lied.
He was just really tired and didn’t want to see anyone else die, espe
cially not for him. If he could do it all again, he would be a leader and knock Harold on his pompous ass. Things might have worked out far better if he had stepped up, but it just wasn’t in him. This was the best he could do under the circumstances; there was no use in getting them killed when he was gimped up, unable to run or even walk very well.
Drake found what he wanted in the house, climbed painfully back upstairs, and closed the door of the master suite. He ate crackers, sardines, some canned cheese, and a whole jar of sweet delicious pickles. When he was finished, he found a sealed toothbrush that he unwrapped and used to brush his teeth. He used some water to clean up and changed into the softest silky pajamas he had ever felt.
Despite being in pain and being a little sad about losing his new friends, the pajamas, clean teeth, the good pickles, and a clean body were very pleasant.
He took out a picture from his wallet; it was of his wife and baby, taken a few months before everything went to hell. Why Drake survived this long as it was a waste, but maybe he helped the group in some way.
The former homeowners left a great gift for him to find. He sipped his Jack and Coke while he waited for the antihistamine to take effect. Then methodically, he swallowed the large bottle of Codeine with his drink. It was very relaxing and far better than being ripped to pieces by a pack of zombies.
He didn’t know the George person who said each should go with dignity in the way of his own choice and not at the teeth and nails of a flesh-eating monster who made a mockery of life. He thought the George person would understand that Drake didn’t want those good people getting killed, trying to rescue him when there was really no way, and he was too tired to go on.
Sleepy, he barely could concentrate on cutting into his wrist, but it didn’t hurt, and he really wanted to be sure there were no mistakes.
He was warm for a while. Then he felt cooler as the air surrounded the silky pajamas, and then he relaxed, letting the drugs and alcohol do the job for him. He fell asleep with the picture of his wife and baby on his chest.
And that was all.
14
Hopetown
The team members that returned to Hopetown were bloody and exhausted.
“I lost all the civvies I tried to rescue,” Julia said, “Damn, not very good on my record.”
“That you and your team made it is pretty unbelievable,” Mark told her. “We have some bruises, skinned arms, a broken arm, a busted knee. Walt’s hurt, but we made it; that was a pretty intense situation, Jules.”
“I guess we would have been eaten if you all hadn’t come along. Appreciate it, Mark. We couldn’t shake those chasing us.”
“Glad we could help.”
“Me, too.”
“Maryanne said she had a feeling…vision…whatever she had…that someone wouldn’t come back alive. Len was all bent about it…couldn’t just send a team in ‘cause he was sure he was sending someone to his or her death. He only took volunteers for this.”
“Thank you for volunteering. That’s unbelievable.”
“More wanted to come but weren’t accepted,” Mark said.
“I can’t believe Len didn’t come.”
“He tried to, but when we had the team set, he was voted out. Pan was afraid something would happen to Len, and we can’t lose him. We need Len.”
“That’s creepy. But we made it out; the others didn’t though,” Julia said, thinking. She was so tired; it was all a blur to her. “Mark, thanks for the help. You saved us, yanno.”
“No problem.”
“Question?”
“Hmmm?”
Julia was lulled by the truck, moving slowly through the streets, taking a circular route in case the things somehow tracked them. Carl drove easy and calmly now that they were away from the horde. Julia leaned against Mark, her legs in Big Bill’s lap as she struggled to stay awake. “Back at the house…up there….”
“Yeh?”
“Harold, he fell right in the middle of the ones going after Misty. That probably saved her life. But why did he fall? Mark, did you push him?”
“Julia, if I did something like pushing him, it would be terrible. But then he did cause some people to get torn apart; he was dangerous and a bad son of a bitch….”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a shit happens. Don’t ask. You may not like the answer.” Mark leaned back and let the drone of the motor relax him as well. The truth was that it all happened very fast, and he wasn’t sure if he had or hadn’t.
He didn’t really care.
15
Hopetown
“One hour and then I am going out there myself,” Len said.
“Slow your roll,” Alex told him, but he watched the gate expectantly, too. He was standing there with Len, explaining why he thought Carla was so antagonistic and waiting for Mark, Julia, and the group to return.“You would tell us we don’t need to go out half cocked and get another team in trouble.”
“I’m not half cocked. I’m calm. See how calm I am?”
“Sure. If you say so.”
“I’m just saying I may have to go look for them and get them back here where they belong.”
“Give them time, Len.”
“They should be back. And Benny can’t get them on the radio.”
“Yes, Benny can.” The man came down to the gate to meet Len. “Rita has coms. I heard from them finally; they will be here in about five-ten minutes tops. Static is still there, but I got that much.”
“Finally. Damned radios suck,” Len said. “Are they okay? Who…Benny…did we lose someone? Are they all right?”
“Slow down,” said Alex, cautioning him.
“I didn’t get all the information, Len. Mark told me that he and Julia are headed back now. They reported injuries but didn’t report any more than that.”
“Injuries.”
“Which may be nothing much at all.”
Alex stepped back, to yell. “Conner, we will have incoming at the gate in about ten minutes,” he said as he turned, “I’m going to get medical ready.”
“Injuries. Damn. What if….” Len didn’t want to say it. What if he put down a friend? Not knowing was the worst and why he preferred to be out with a team.
“Injuries. What is what? Len, stop borrowing trouble.”
Len could see Carl’s big truck now as it made the last bend toward the gate. From the side road, a Humvee appeared, pulled out at an angle, and swung right in the path of the big truck. Len and Benny both cringed in anticipation of the crash.
Carl cursed, hitting his brakes as he swerved to miss hitting the Humvee as he saw the driver jerk on his own wheel when he saw Carl’s truck. It was almost a collision, but both drivers reacted quickly.
He and Pak had their seatbelts on, but the rest in the back of the truck shifted to the cab with sliding, heavy lurches. Matt yelped as his broken arm flopped to one side; he meant to raise that arm to grab for Manny who was half-standing as they slid and jolted to a stop, but the arm didn’t move.
Big Bill saw the same thing and raised a beefy arm.Manny reached for the roll bar, but his skinned hand slid off, and he flipped over the side of the truck before he could do anything else but grasp at the cloth of Big Bill’s shirt with the other hand.
He and Mark dove out to help up Manny, but the man didn’t move, only lay on his back.
“Manny?” Big Bill squatted. “Hey, Manny.” He was scared to yank him up.
Mark joined him, shaking his head in disbelief. He somehow knew Manny was dead as soon as it happened. He used two fingers to check Manny’s pulse, looked him over, then saw where blood stained the pavement, his face puzzled. “He’s, good Lord, he’s dead. Awe, Manny, no way.”
Julia cursed quietly.
Pan got the tailgate open while Big Bill and Pak got Manny’s body settled on it for the ride to the gate. “Damned shame,” Big Bill lamented.
“Of all things to happen…how common place was that for a hero?” Pan asked. “That’s j
ust wrong although I wouldn’t want him to have suffered.”
“This isn’t right,” Big Bill said.
Mark walked over to look at the Humvee. Carl and several of the rest trained guns on the vehicle. The glass of the window unrolled, and a man looked at him with interest, concern washing his features. “Is the fellow okay? He is, isn’t he?”
“No. He’s passed on; thanks to your driver’s dumb ass driving.”
“My apologies and condolences. We weren’t watching the road, weren’t expecting anyone to come a long.”
“Neither helped Manny, did they?” Mark felt disgusted. Maryanne’s vision was right, and yet, up to that point, it seemed she was wrong. One wrong vision really wouldn’t have hurt, but no, this idiot pulled right in their path. “It could have killed us all if Carl was going faster, or if we’d hit you.”
Carl stepped out and began a tirade that was colorful and mostly about his foot, someone’s ass, and if he actually hit them and messed his truck up. He continued on telling them how he felt in general about their causing Manny to die when they were this close to home, and how Manny was a good person and how this sucked. He was so upset that he was driving when Manny died that he was about to start punching people.
His mother, God rest her soul, called this a ‘redneck fit’. He blustered about his truck to keep from feeling as bad. From both sides of the Humvee, men in fatigues jumped out and showed their guns. “Assholes.”
One raised his gun slightly.
“Okay, whatever, I might have been going a little too fast.” Carl backed up, hands in the air, gun lowered, as he got back into the truck.
“ Put your damned guns down. They just lost a man, for God’s sake,” the man yelled. “Get back in the Humvee and settle your ass down.”
Mark just stared at him, waiting.
“My apologies again. Where are you headed?”
