Then I heard Mr. Carl's voice, real loud and angry like.
“Monica, don't!”
All of a sudden I wasn't bein' pulled anymore so I scurried back into the hole. I realized I was cryin' and I was a little bit embarrassed 'cause it seemed like all I did anymore was cry. But the monsters almost had me and I didn't know what they woulda done if they coulda pulled me out of that little cave but I knew it wouldn't have been anything good.
Outside, I could hear my Mommy still yellin' and Mr. Carl was shoutin' at her to get outta the way, let him handle this but I don't think she was listenin' to him because he just kept on sayin' it over and over.
I'd crawled far enough into the cave that I found a space where I could kinda wiggle around so that I was facin' the way out. I could see all the light comin' through the entrance and every now and then somethin' would run by. But it was too quick to tell if it was a monster, my Mommy, or Mr. Carl.
“Damn it, Monica, get the hell outta the way!”
Carl was really angry and I began wonderin' what was goin' on out there. So I started crawlin' toward the entrance so I could get a better look.
When I was crawlin', I heard Mr. Carl's gun shoot a coupla times and then I heard him cuss and start yelling at my Mommy some more. But she was still screamin' at the monsters to leave us alone and her voice sounded like she was so mad she was about to cry.
I was finally close enough that I could see outside; Mr. Carl was runnin' along the side of the hill with his gun pulled and held out in front of him like he was a cop or somethin'. Behind him, I saw the little kid monster layin' on the ground. It wasn't movin' at all which made me think that Mr. Carl had prob'ly kilt it when he was shootin' earlier.
Mommy was just a little bit away from my cave and she had this big old limb that she was swinging in front of her like it was a baseball bat. Her face was all shiny with tears, which made me feel better about me cryin' so much, and two of those monsters were coming toward her.
The Daddy monster was a little faster than the Mommy monster and it kinda jumped toward her at the same time she was swingin' the limb. I thought for sure she was gonna hit it, but the piece of wood just barely missed. Then it grabbed my Mommy's shirt in its hands and was pullin' her toward it and Mommy was tryin' to swing her limb but it kinda seemed like the monster's arms kept getting in the way.
Next thing I know, the monster opened its mouth and Mommy started screamin' and I suddenly knew what the monsters wanted to do with us. They wanted to eat us, just like monsters in movies, and I think Mommy knew this too 'cause her screams sounded different this time, like she was more afraid than mad.
I screamed for her and this seemed to remind the mommy monster that I was in the cave 'cause it turned and came runnin' back to where I was hidin'. But I was quicker and I started crawlin' backward again.
Outside, I heard Mr. Carl's gun again, three times: Bam! Bam! Bam! Then, I heard Mommy scream again but she didn't sound mad or afraid. It sounded more like she'd hurt herself real bad but I didn't have a whole lotta time to think about it 'cause all of a sudden I saw the monster's face lookin' into the cave at me.
I was still close enough that I could see there were bits of bone stickin' out through its burnt up skin and I could also see these little pieces of glass stickin' out of the corner of one of its eyes.
I kept thinkin' it would growl at me or something, but it didn't. It just pushed its hands into the cave like it thought it could actually reach me. And I began wonderin' if monsters had magic powers. If it could make its arm stretch or make itself small enough that it could crawl into the hole after me.
I picked up a rock and was just getting' ready to throw it when I heard Mr. Carl's gun again. At the same time there was this hole that suddenly appeared in the monster's forehead and it just fell down right where it was. But not before I had time to notice that monster blood looked really dark and thick, kinda like black pancake batter with all these little gray bits mixed in.
Then the monster disappeared and I saw Mr. Carl's face lookin' into the cave.
“It's okay, son.” he said. “They're all dead. Come on out now, it's okay.”
All I could think about was havin' my Mommy's arms around me and hearin' her tell me that everything was gonna be fine. So I crawled outta the cave just as fast as I could.
When I got toward the entrance, Mr. Carl kinda pulled me out and lifted me over the body of the monster he'd killed, but as soon as he put me down I was runnin' to where my Mommy was, hollerin' her name as I started cryin' again.
She was sittin' on the ground but she still gave me a big 'ole hug and held my head against her shoulder. She rocked back and forth and petted my hair and she was cryin' too which made me squeeze her even more tighter.
After a while, I heard Mr. Carl behind us and his voice was real soft and sad sounding.
“You shoulda just let me get clear shot. You shoulda just let me handle it.”
When I heard him, I got mad all over again for him tellin' me to shut up when I was lost in the woods. I pulled away from Mommy and was getting' ready to yell at him when I realized that my chest felt kinda sticky like.
I looked down and saw all this blood where my shirt had been ripped only it wasn't dark like monster blood but red like people blood. And then I looked at my Mommy and saw that she had blood all over her shirt too and there was a huge tear in the side.
And I realized that Mommy looked kinda sick. Her face was real white and she seemed kinda shaky.
Now that she wasn't huggin' me, she wrapped her arms around herself and kinda pressed in where all the blood was comin' out.
When Mr. Carl spoke again, he was cryin' too.
“Why didn't you just let me get a shot?”
I was real scared 'cause I knew the monster had tried to eat my Mommy but I tried to be brave 'cause I knew that's what she would want.
“It's okay.” I said. “It didn't get you too bad, Mommy. We just need to get a buncha Band Aids or somethin'. And Mr. Carl killed it so it won't try to get you again.”
Mommy put her hand on the side of my cheek and looked me straight in the eyes like she always did when she was really serious about somethin'.
“I love you, baby.” she told me. “I love you more than anything in the world.”
I tried to tell Mommy that I loved her too, but when I opened up my mouth the words kinda felt like they got stuck somewhere down in my throat. And for the first time in my life I got really scared in a way I can't really explain; I felt like all I wanted to do was crawl back into that cave with my Mommy and stay there forever. I would hold her in my arms like she always held me and keep her safe and make sure nothin' bad ever happened to her.
But somehow I still couldn't clear my throat enough to tell her I loved her too.
“I know baby.” she whispered. “I know.... ”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CARL
God, I'm cold. I reckon this is what it must feel like if someone drained all the blood out of a body and replaced it with ice water. It's a chill that goes deeper than just the skin: a cold that seems to radiate from somewhere inside the marrow of my bones and I know that even if I had a mound of blankets it would never be enough.
And it doesn't help that I'm sweating like it was uncle's day at the whorehouse either. My hair is plastered to my head and the drops trickle down my forehead, roll into my eyes, and sting like a mother fucker.
Outside, the wind is howling through the trees like a pissed off demon. Must be a storm on the way. I wonder if I'll still be alive by the time the rain actually starts to fall. God, I hope so....
I used to love watching thunderstorms. I'd stand on the back porch and watch the distant clouds flicker with lightning; and there's this smell carried on the breeze right before it rains, a smell that lets you know everything will be fresh and clean soon and all of the ugliness will be washed away; I would stand out there breathing that smell in and count the number of seconds between the flash of lightning and the boom of
thunder.
I hope I can hold out. I know that I don't have much time left, that my body can't just bleed indefinitely... but I'd love to hear the patter of rain on a roof one last time. I'd like to close my eyes, listen to the sound of the storm outside, and drift off to sleep like I did when I was a kid.
That sounds so good right now. I'm tired beyond belief: tired of the pain flaring through my side, tired of the cold, tired of the ghosts that haunt my memories and remind me of everything I've lost. I just want to lay my head down and let it all be dissolve away.
But I have that option, don't I? I've got my pistol and, like a bad stereotype, a single round left. I can't imagine it would hurt for long... probably no more than it would take for my heart to beat once. And could it be any worse than what I'm feeling now? A flash of pain in exchange for an eternity of release... is that really such a bad deal?
But I really wanna hear that rain, ya know? Just once more. If I can hold out until the first drops start splattering against the windows, if I can catch a glimpse of the pines as they bend to the power of the wind while thunder rumbles and lightning bathes the world in electric blue... if I can just hang on that long then maybe.
Shit, what was I thinking about before? Something to do with Doc, I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was it. But what? It’s getting hard to concentrate, hard to keep stringing these words together in my head. Wonder if this is how Grandpa Jackson felt when his mind first started to go? Confused, mentally exhausted to the point that thought seems to almost take on a physical weight, more than a tad bit scared because there's these gaping holes where memory ought to be. It’s so dang frustrating, like trying to remember a song lyric that's right on the tip of your tongue. But for the life of me I can't remember what I was thinking about just five minutes ago. Only that it was something to do with me and Doc.
Instead, I find myself thinking back to a time before I met the man. It was right after everything went to pot and most people still had hope that it would all blow over quickly, that the military would step in and stop this insanity before it could spread any further. Thing was, until that time came you still had to run. You still had to find somewhere safe to hide until the helicopters flew over and broadcasted that it was safe to go back to your homes now, safe to go back to your lives.
Me, I knew better. I knew that once something like this started there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. You might've as well tried to hold the wind in your hands as my father used to say. So I tried to step right into the role I always thought I was born to play.
Very early on, I met up with this woman and her little boy. Somehow, we'd all ended up in the same patch of forest at the same time, not too far from the interstate, and I knew, I just knew, that this would be my one big chance. I'd lead them through the ruins of civilization, would protect them from marauders and the throngs of undead that were sure to come; perhaps, in time, the woman would come to love me and we'd steal tender moments whenever we could; I would teach the kid how to stay alive, how to survive in this new world, and there would come a day when he would shyly call me dad and Monica would smile over his shoulder as I tussled Jason's hair and laughed.
But first, I had to lead them through the maze of trees we'd found ourselves in. And, in my own defense, I thought I was doing pretty good in the beginning. I channeled every action hero I'd ever admired, every bad ass who'd slaughtered the undead in the name of all that's righteous and pure.
I was Bruce Campbell, Woody Harrelson, and Ving Rhames all rolled into one. When I walked, I adopted this little swagger that (I hoped) let Monica and her son know that as long as I was with them everything would be right as rain; I spoke only in short phrases that could've been lifted right from the script of any low-budget fright flick and sometimes motioned for them to stop as if I heard something out of place in the forest. But, truth be told, more often than not I was just doing it for dramatic effect.
See, back then it all still seemed almost like some kind of game. Despite seeing a man I'd known all my life turned into a human torch, it had the feeling of a dream that you were sure to wake from soon: a dream where you could be anyone you chose and no one would ever call you on it. I could be the devil-may-care Zombie Killer Elite and who was to say that wasn't who I truly was inside?
Funny thing about reality though is the way it has of keeping you in check. In this instance, it happened when I'd left Monica and the boy in a clearing to scout out the way ahead. Truth be told, I just had to take a dump so bad my stomach felt like I was about to give birth to a fire-baby. But that's not really the kinda thing a hero tells the damsel in distress, ya know?
So I walked about fifty or sixty yards out into the forest, made good and sure that I was well outta sight, dropped my trousers, and squatted down beneath this big oak tree.
In my past life I'd always kept a book or magazine within arm's reach of the toilet. If, for some reason, I found myself without suitable material, I'd reach for a shampoo bottle and start reading the information on the back of it. Anything to give me something to actually do but sit and listen to the sounds of my own waste. Out there in the woods, though, I didn't have anything to distract me; so I just kinda looked around, taking in the way the sunlight dappled through the canopy of leaves overhead, trying to remember what those little blue flowers that crept up all over the damn place were called, that sorta thing.
I was studying this tree that somehow had an old tire stuck on a limb about halfway up the trunk, when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Snapping my head to the side, I saw this little girl in a pink dress come staggering out of the bushes.
As far as I could tell there weren't any obvious injuries on her: no cuts or lacerations, no burns or bite marks or shards of bone jutting out through the skin. The front of her dress had been splattered with blood... but somehow I knew it wasn't hers.
So I just kinda squatted there for a minute, watching this thing that had once been somebody's daughter while my heart pounded in my chest like a racehorse on steroids. Without taking my eyes from her, I slowly reached to the ground and felt around in the cool moss for the pistol I'd laid by my side.
She'd been pretty in life and probably would have grown up to break plenty of hearts: she had this flowing blond hair that perfectly framed her round face and, though her skin was as pale as the face of the moon now, I could imagine the glow that must have radiated from her smile as she played with her friends in the park.
I felt this cold hand grip my heart and squeeze it so tightly that little flares of pain shot up my arm. I couldn't think about who she had been before. I couldn't even really think of her as a she if I was smart. Sure, she might be just kinda lumbering around now like she was in some sort of daze but she hadn't caught sight of me yet.
I'd seen how fast those things could move. I'd witnessed how vicious and relentless they could be, how single minded their pursuit of violence was. The moment those vacant eyes noticed me squatting beneath that old tree, she would be all over me like a wild dog on a chained goat.
“She's not a kid anymore.” I tried to tell myself as I raised my pistol. “She's not even human.”
Still, my hand was trembling so bad that I was hard pressed to keep the side of her head within the sights. My eyes started stinging and I could feel tears welling up. My vision blurred and I felt like throwing up right then and there.
But I had to do it, right? There was no way I'd survive in this new world if I still thought of these things as children.
Maybe I sniffled. Or perhaps she'd caught the scent of my fear or simply knew, somehow, that she wasn't alone. Whatever the reason, she turned slowly to face me.
Without another thought, my finger pulled the trigger of the gun.
At the same instant, her eyes widened as she opened her mouth.
“Mister, I.... ”
And then she was falling to the ground, a small hole in her perfect little forehead as the sound of my shot echoed through the forest.
M
ister, I....
I tried to tell myself that I hadn't really heard it, that it had simply been my imagination kicked into overdrive by fear and adrenaline.
Mister, I....
That small voice sounding as if she'd just awoken from a dream and didn't know where she was. That soft, sweet voice that would now never talk again.
It's too easy to pull a trigger. It should be harder. Even in this fucked up reality.
And that's what they never showed you in the movies or told you about in the books. That's the little secret they kept tucked away far from the eyes of common folk: heroes aren't perfect. Heroes make mistakes. And those mistakes can sometimes take the life of an innocent, of someone they should have been safeguarding through the turmoil and strife.
And, somehow, you have to find a way to live with yourself. Even when those mistakes repeat themselves again and again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: JOSIE
We ended up staying in that old farmhouse for nearly a week. During daylight hours, we stayed inside and tried to remain as quiet as possible. Doc had an old deck of cards he carried with him and we'd spend hours sitting around the kitchen table, playing rummy, and whispering stories back and forth.
Slowly I began to piece their histories together: how Doc and Carl had met in a burned out grocery store and almost shot one-another, each initially thinking the other was a freshie; how Sadie and Watchmaker (whose real name turned out to be Tobias) had watched their children grow up and then have children of their own. How they had lived for the past half century in the same house, collecting a lifetime's worth of memories and laughter within those walls. Even when Tobias first began to lose his sight and found it more and more difficult to work on the intricate cogs and gears from which his nickname stemmed, they still had each other and that had been enough. They told me how they'd stood in their front yard while yellow and blue flames licked at the night sky like hungry tongues of hell; how Watchmaker could feel the heat on his face and hear the crackling and popping but see only flickering shades of light and shadow. How they'd held each other and cried softly as all of their pictures and keepsakes had been devoured by the insatiable inferno.
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