The Dead & Dying: A Zombie Novel

by William Todd Rose

  Over top my own screams, I could hear another. This one not of pain, but of rage. Carl suddenly loomed beside me and I saw his pistol, a lick of fire and the stench of burnt powder as the thing's head whipped backward with the impact of the bullet. Carl stood over it, tears streaming down his face as his finger pulled the trigger again and again and again. Bullet after bullet shattered the thing's skull, sending bit of bones flying into the air like shrapnel from a grenade and I pulled myself backward, leaving a bloody swath on the floor as blood continued to gush from my wound.

  Carl's clip was empty but he stood there, still pulling the trigger as the firing pin clicked uselessly above the fallen freshie.

  “No, no, no, no!”

  He sunk to his knees and began bashing the thing in the face with the butt of his pistol.

  “No, it's not fucking fair, no, damn it, no!”

  His words blubbered between sobs and I watched as his assault gradually lost steam. The pummeling became less forceful, less frequent, until finally, he threw the pistol across the room and hunched over the motionless body while his body hitched with sobs.

  My leg felt as if it had been set on fire and the slightest movement caused severed nerve endings to flare in protest. How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I shoot that one in the damn head as well?

  “Carl.... ”

  The sound of my voice snapped him to attention and he came scrambling across the floor on hands and knees. His face glistened with tears and something about him reminded me of a small boy who was lost in a world of darkness and couldn't find his way out again.

  I reached for him and he took my hand, kissing it repeatedly.

  “Carl.... ”

  “Everything's gonna be okay, sweetie. Everything will be fine. I'll patch you up and we'll get ourselves to that little church I was telling you about.”

  “Baby, I don't think I'm gonna make it to that church.”

  “Yes!”

  His voice was strained with emotion, cracking as he yelled and squeezed my hand.

  “Yes you are. Don't you say that. We'll go to the church and we'll have ourselves a little ceremony. It'll probably be spring by the time we get there and I'll pick you a nice bouquet of wildflowers.”

  Bubbles of snot blew from his nose and I tried to reach up, to wipe the tears from his eyes but my leg flared in pain.

  “I... I love you, Carl. I want you to know that, baby. I love you. Always remember.”

  “No, you're gonna be okay, sweetie. Don't talk like that. We're gonna be okay. You can pull through this.”

  I knew he was trying to convince himself of this more than me. But at the same time, I wanted to believe him. If nothing else than to simply help ease some of the pain I saw reflected in those faded, tired eyes.

  “Just hold me, baby. Hold me tight.”

  He hugged me then and we sat there in the middle of the barn, slowly rocking back and forth as our tears moistened one another's shoulders. How long we sat like that, I don't know; but eventually tears turned to sniffles and then then to a silence so complete that I could almost hear the sound of his heart breaking.

  “You keep going.” I finally said. “You find that church and whatever it was you were looking for there, you hear me?”

  “No, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Josie.”

  I reached up and managed to stroke the side of his face this time, my fingertips trailing over the lines so gently I could feel the peach fuzz on his cheekbones.

  “You promise me, Carl. If you love me, then promise me this. Find what you were looking for, baby.”

  “No, I.... ”

  “Carl, promise me.”

  He was starting to cry again and he bit his bottom lip as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth.

  “Promise me, baby.”

  “Okay,” he finally blurted. “I promise. If that's what you want, then I promise.”

  I managed a slight smile and tried to ignore the way the pain seemed to be creeping up my leg. It was all too easy to imagine the infection surging through my veins, poisoning healthy cells as it slowly made its way toward my brain.

  “Good. Now sit with me a while, okay? Sit with me and, when the time comes, don't let me turn into one of them. Don't let me do this to someone else, okay?”

  His lips were thin and taut, his teeth clenched together so tightly that tears were squeezed from his shut eyes like water from a sponge. But he curled up beside me anyway, pressing his body against mine so closely that I could feel his heart beating within his chest. He slung one arm across my waist and buried his face into my hair as he kissed my scalp and I was reminded of an old married couple bedding down for the night.

  We stayed like that up until the very end. Up until I could feel the last of my life channeling its way up through my body, ready to escape into the ether with that final breath. And, just before that moment, I saw a beautiful light radiating from everything around me: a light that was as soft and gentle as a butterfly kiss; a light that warmed my spirit and assured me that, somehow, everything really would be alright.

  Everything was so clear.

  Everything was so beautiful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE CHILD

  I don't really remember a whole lot about all the time Mr. Carl and me were in the church. I think we were there a long, long time but after a while it's like my memories just turned off or something. I remember thinkin' about shootin' him with his own gun; I remember him readin' Bible stories, only he read them in a voice that made 'em sound kind of creepy, like they were bein' told by a demon or an old, old, old man. But after that it's like there's this dark spot in my mind and no matter how hard I try to look into it, I can't see nothin'.

  Except for bein' sick. I remember that real good. I remember how the inside of my belly felt like it was hot and cold all at the same time and I kept tastin' throw-up in my mouth only I never did really puke. And then it started feelin' like my muscles were turning to stone or something cause they got really hard and it hurt so much just to move a finger or blink an eye.

  Mr. Carl was somewhere close by and his voice sounded super loud and made my ears hurt every time he'd talk. He kept sayin' over and over that it was all his fault, that he shoulda been better prepared, and that he shoulda never left me all by myself. It kinda sounded like he was angry and crying all at once and I wasn't really sure if he was talkin' to me or if there was someone else there with us.

  I tried to ask if I could have some water cause my throat and lips was burnin' really bad, kinda like that time I snuck a drink outta Uncle Bobby's special bottle and got in all that trouble. Only when I spoke, my words didn't sound right which was really scary. It was like I could hear them in my head and knew what I was tryin' to say but when they came outta my mouth the sounds were all wrong and didn't make any sense at all.

  So I concentrated real hard on the words and tried asking again, but this time it was even worse and I don't think I was actually sayin' anything at all... unless it was in some language I didn't understand.

  By this time I'd got this really bad headache that felt like somethin' was inside my brain and beating on it with a hammer. I wanted to scream 'cause it hurt so bad only my throat felt like it was gettin' smaller and smaller and it was hard enough just to breathe so it was like that scream was just stuck somewhere in my body and couldn't get out.

  Since I couldn't scream, I tried kickin' my legs but that made it feel like my muscles were bein' ripped in two so I just ended curling up into this little ball and holdin' my stomach, hopin' that the pain would go away.

  Mr. Carl was still talkin' but his words were all messed up now, too but I knew he'd started throwin' stuff at the wall cause I could hear the crashes as he broke stuff.

  And then I really did start throwin' up and it seemed like once I started I couldn't stop. It was comin' outta my mouth and my nose and stung really bad and I wanted to lift my head but couldn't do it. So I laid there with all this puke aro
und me and every time I would stop throwin' up for a second I would open my eyes cause it hurt to keep them squeezed shut so tight.

  My throw up looked kinda like foamy water only there was these bright red streaks in it and the more I vomited the redder the puke got and it was all thick and sticky.

  By this time, I couldn't hardly move at all. I tried to see if maybe I could crawl backward so my head wouldn't be laying in all that throw up, but my legs didn't wanna listen to my brain and when I tried to use my arms the only thing I could do was wiggle the ends of my fingers. And even that hurt so bad that I just stopped tryin'.

  Mr. Carl was kneelin' beside me and he kept makin' the same set of noises again and again and then he started shakin' me. I tried to look at him t' see if he was finally gettin' ready to kill me but it was like this real thick fog had somehow rolled into the church. I could see his hands comin' outta the fog but everything else was like shadows and stuff.

  And I started gettin' really, really tired right about then. It was like all that throwin' up had taken up all my energy and all I wanted was a nice, long nap. Mr. Carl put two of his fingers on my neck for a bit and it's hard to describe how it felt. It's like I knew his fingers were there only it seemed like everything was really far away. Like it wasn't really my neck at all, but someone else's.

  But that didn't even really matter. All I wanted was to just go to sleep. To just close my eyes and hope that maybe when I woke up I wouldn't be sick and it wouldn't hurt any more.

  And I remember how the darkness kinda slowly closed in around me. How everything just felt farther and farther away the darker it got. Until finally, there wasn't anything other than the dark.

  Me and the blurry people are still in the woods and it's started rainin' on us only no one really seems to care. The rain is comin' down really hard too and lightning keeps flashing every few seconds and the thunder booms so loud I can feel it in my feet. We keep walkin' even though it’s all muddy and some of 'em keep falling down and tripping over old logs and stuff.

  And I still got that feeling like I'm being pulled. Everyone else seems to be heading in one direction and part of me wants to follow them. But it’s like I don't really have no control over my own actions and I start breakin' off from the others and walkin' toward the left.

  The other people around me kinda stop for a second as they watch me start t' walk away. A few of 'em even turn and start to follow me, like I'm the new leader or something. Once they start following, the others turn around and they begin walkin' with me too. And I don't think they can feel the pulling like I do; I think they didn't really have nowhere in mind that they were going so my way was just as good as anything else.

  We cross this big road and there's all these wrecked cars all over the place only they look like maybe they wrecked a long time ago. But we really don't pay much attention to 'em and just keep walkin' until we're heading down this little hill. The mud and all the rain makes it really slippery and I end up falling and rolling all the way to the bottom where a tree finally stops me. Only it didn't hurt or nothin' when I hit the tree so I just stand back up and start walkin' again.

  That tugging feeling is really strong now and it feels like my whole body is just being pulled along. I want to walk faster but it’s like I can't. All I can do is take these little baby steps that don't even really make me lift my feet all that much.

  And I see this little cabin up ahead, all by itself out here in the woods. It's really old and run down and I can hear the door bangin' as the wind blows it and I can also tell that it's that place that's been pulling me all along.

  Lightning flashes and even through the rain I can see someone layin' inside. They're not blurry like us and I know this means that they'll be warm and that they can make the hurting stop for a little bit.

  My legs feel like they want to run toward the cabin and that warm person but they can't. So I just keep takin' those baby steps and the door of the cabin gets closer and closer so slowly that I don't think I'll ever get there.

  But I hafta. I hafta get there, hafta get that person inside just like we did with the lady in the checkerboard shirt. It hurts so bad and I just want it to stop. I just wanna feel their warmth in my belly and on my chin and hands. So I keep walkin' and the others keep following.

  We'll be warm soon enough. Even if it's only for a little bit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CARL

  After Josie died, I reckon I went a bit crazy. Up until then, I'd always been pretty darn careful in my dealings with the dead. If the odds looked like they were stacked against me then I'd try to skirt around the freshies and rotters whenever I could; I tried to learn from my mistakes, to constantly improve the technique of keeping my ass alive.

  I suppose, on some level, I'd just stopped caring about what happened to me. I kept making my way toward that little church only because that's what I promised Josie I'd do. But it seemed like every stinking, rotten face I saw along the way was like a match tossed into a puddle of gasoline. I'd see a group of corpses staggering along and everything just flared up so quickly that I could almost hear a whoosh and feel the heat of the flames wash over my soul. All I could think of was Josie, of Jason and his mother, Watchmaker, the little girl in the forest, and all the friends and family I'd lost along the way. Their faces flashed in my mind like a slide show of suffering.

  And I blamed those damn zombies for all of it. It was like these creatures suddenly embodied every horrible tragedy that had ever touched my life and I wanted nothing more than to crush their ugly fucking faces beneath the heel of my boot, to hack limbs and feel their cold, putrid blood oozing across my hands. A shot to the head was too kind for them, too easy. I wanted to make them suffer, to rip them apart with tooth and nail if necessary, to actually feel their bones crack and break....

  I'd found a lawnmower blade in the barn when I was looking for a shovel to bury Josie with. Also found some duct tape and I'd ended up wrapping the silvery stuff around one end of the blade until it bulged out and formed a handle of sorts. And this makeshift weapon became the sword of an avenging angel: a dark angel who tore through the countryside and burned with righteous anger, cleaving a trail of destruction that marked his path with signposts of arms and legs and headless torsos.

  I can't reckon I can rightly say how many of those bastards I left lying in little chunks. Enough so that my shirt and jacket became so stiff with congealed blood that it seemed as if they'd been dipped in glue. Enough that I had to sharpen the blade at least twice a day and was continually keeping my eye out for more tape to patch up my handle.

  But even then it was never enough. I wanted to wipe each and every last one of those god forsaken nightmares off the face of the earth. And when the last one had fallen, when the world had been cleansed of their filth, I would raise my blade to the sky and shout at the top of my lungs: Is that the best You got? What now? Bring it on! Just You fucking try me, You sanctimonious bastard!

  Of course, that day never came. In the end there were simply too many of them and I was so damned tired. Hatred takes a heavy toll on a body: it saps the strength from you so slowly you don't even realize you're reacting a fraction of a second slower than the day before. You don't notice that your lawnmower blade isn't sinking into the skull quite as deeply as it used to. You have no clue that all you really want is a deep rest and an end to all the torment and anguish that gnaws within you like a pack of famished rats.

  But I made it pretty damn close, didn't I? I reckon about eighty or ninety more miles and I would've been there. Still, maybe it's for the best that I got myself bitten. What did I really expect to find there anyway? Some sort of absolution? Some kind of forgiveness? Well, maybe I never really deserved it anyway.

  I mean, who the hell leaves a little boy to die alone? It doesn't matter that he was fading fast anyway. I should've stayed with him up to the very end. Hell, at the rate the sickness took hold after he ate the flesh from that dead freshy it wouldn't have taken long. The last time I felt for a p
ulse it was so shallow and weak that for a moment I thought the boy had already turned.

  To be entirely honest, I really didn't know what to do. I was scared, sad, angry, and defeated all at the same time. If only I hadn't left the damn backpack behind or had taken the time to raid that grocer before entering the church. If I'd only put a little more fucking thought into my half-assed rescue or never left the boy alone to begin with....

  I'd done nothing but destroy every life I'd touched since this damn thing had started. Every idea I had seemed to have a way of backfiring on me. So yeah, I threw me a little tantrum in that church. Anything that wasn't bolted to the floor ended up flying through the air and smashing against the walls: song books, candle holders, pews... I tore through that building, cussing at The Man Above, tears streaming down my face, lost and confused.

  I'd snatched this picture off the wall of Jesus with all these little children clustered around his feet. I held the gilded frame so tightly that the edges started cutting into my fingers and I pressed my face up so close that my spit peppered the glass as I yelled. I can't rightly remember exactly what I was shouting but it was something about how it wasn't fair, how this wasn't supposed to happen to kids, and that I didn't know what the hell He wanted out of me.

  After a bit, I threw that picture so hard that I kinda stumbled over my own feet as I let it go. I fell to the ground and heard the shattering of glass at the same time my body thudded against the floorboards.

  My head shot up and I saw that the picture had flown right through one of the stained glass windows and the stench of the crowd outside filled the room like air rushing into a vacuum. I picked myself up and stood directly behind the boy, who was moaning so softly now that it sounded more like a wheeze.

  I looked at the bloody vomit that caked his Power Rangers t-shirt, at the way his veins seemed so dark against his pale skin.