by James Dean
“Kennan…” Saul gasped. “This is a… a dream.”
“More or less, my brother,” Kennan answered, displaying ivory white teeth. He sounded hollow, almost distant.
“I-I do not understand,” Saul sputtered, taking a step back and bumping into the wall.
Kennan moved closer, as if gliding through the air. “I do not have time to explain everything to you, my brother. Just know that I am here for you.”
“Here… for me?” Saul asked, confusion spreading across his dark and scarred face.
Kennan glanced at the floor, and then returned Saul’s gaze and smiled. “I am at peace, brother.”
“Peace?” Saul repeated. “Are you dead?”
Kennan answered with a nod, and a smile.
“How is that at peace?” Saul asked angrily.
“I am at peace, but I have not moved on yet. Nor will any from this day forth. Not until…” Kennan trailed off. “That is not important.”
“Why have you come to me?”
Kennan’s face became firm and grew serious. “You need redemption, my brother.”
“I have asked God to forgive me. There… there is nothing else I can do.” Saul straightened.
“God?” Kennan mocked. “Forgiveness cannot be given when one does not forgive themselves.”
“I cannot. Could you?" Saul shut his eyes, trying to force back tears as memories of old crept up in his mind. "I wish I was dead,” Saul covered his eyes with his hand. “The pain I have caused. The death… My wife, my child…”
“They await you, my brother,” Kennan said as his raised his hand and laid it on Saul’s chest. Warmth, peacefulness, comfort spread out from Kennan’s touch like a wave.
“What do you mean?” Saul asked, feeling ease overtake him.
“Your soul is surrounded by the darkness that you refuse to let go of. If you were to die today, my brother, I fear you will be lost forever.”
“Redemption…” Saul whispered. The words tasted bitter.
“Yes, my brother,” Kennan answered. He backed away, removing his hand from Saul’s chest. The warmth Saul felt quickly faded.
“How? How can I be redeemed?” Saul asked, removing his hand, letting the tears roll down his cheek.
Kennan continued to back away. The room began to shimmer as the walls slowly turned back to the ethereal mist that created them.
“Save the child, my brother, to save your soul,” Kennan said, his voice turning hollow again.
“The child? What do you mean?” Saul tried to move forward, but his legs refused to move.
“Save the child…”
*****
Saul jumped out of the chair and almost fell over. He was back in America. Back in his new home. The candles had gone out and the only light came from the window.
He walked over and opened the curtains. The moon gave off a dull, grey illumination. Figures moved in the street. Not many, but they resembled what Saul had seen earlier when he went to the store. The dead.
Saul’s one good eye fixed on the house across the street. No light was coming from it.
Save the child…The words echoed in his head.
“The child…” Saul repeated. Saul let the curtain fall, and took a step back.
He thought he understood. To see his wife and child in the afterlife he would have to save the boy across the street. But how? He could feel in his bones that this was the end of humanity. Or at least, the end as far as humans knew.
“I have to try. If only to see them again,” he said to himself.
Before the power went out, Saul had been watching the news. He was certain the final reports were truthful. The dead walked. A bite from one would mean turning into one of the undead as well. Americans called them zombies. The only way to stop them, according to the reporter on the television, was by piercing the skull and damaging the brain.
Saul glanced at his watch. It was 3:18 in the morning. He had time before the sun came up. If the young child was still alive in the morning, he would help him.
“But help him do what?” Saul asked the empty room. Helping the boy survive was all Saul could think of. Perhaps he would get him to a police station, or to other people that could care for him. Then, he could be at peace.
He marched to his bedroom and pulled out a foot locker.
Saul didn’t own guns or weapons other than the machete. He fumbled through the contents in the locker until he came across the prosthetic arm given to him by the Red Cross after they nursed him back to health. It had been years since he had worn it.
He grabbed the limb and walked back into the living room. Saul needed something else. His eyes skimmed the empty room until they rested on the fireplace.
*****
June 24th 6:24 AM
Kyle sprang up from the couch in a cold sweat.
Saul wasn't the only one to have a strange dream that night.
Kyle dreamt of his mother. The two were in a large white room with walls hundreds of feet apart with no apparent ceiling. She stood a few paces from Kyle, and when she spoke, Kyle heard indistinguishable whispers. Her eyes streamed with tears and no matter how hard he tried, Kyle couldn’t move closer to her. When he reached his hand out, it was small, insignificant and appeared to make her seem further away.
Another shape formed out of nothing. It was eerie, ghostlike and never completely took form. Just an ominous mist that took a rough outline of another person from the waist up. It glided to his mother and she stopped crying. Her face became peaceful. The entire room started to fade and that was when Kyle woke with a start.
He wiped sweat from his brow. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and rays of sunshine darted between the curtains. A slight whimper came from his feet, and Kyle kneeled to give Butterscotch a reassuring pet behind the ears.
Kyle bent over the couch and carefully moved one of the curtains. Outside he saw two people. One stood the middle of the road while the other limped past his house. Both had bloodstains on their clothing. He shut the curtains, fearing they might turn and see him.
“What now, Butter?” Kyle was hungry and thirsty. After fleeing Mr. Attah’s house the previous night, he sat on his couch and sulked. He was scared and lonely and didn’t know what to do.
“I need to be brave,” he whispered to Butterscotch. “We both need to be. That is what mom would want. Dad, too.”
Kyle ate what little food he had that didn’t need to be heated. His mom was big on making dinner and wasn’t big on snack food. After, he brought some food and water to Butterscotch who only took a few nibbles but lapped up the entire bowl of water.
Over the next hour, Kyle heard numerous gunshots in the distance, along with some cars screeching or spinning out. Other people were still alive, but none seemed to be on his street. He peeked out the front window a couple more times only to see more undead mulling around.
Butterscotch tried to lift herself up, and Kyle bent down to help her. She limped her way to the sliding glass door in the kitchen, leading to the backyard.
“Do you have to go to out?” Kyle asked. She made a sad face and turned back to face the door. “Be brave,” Kyle whispered half-heartedly to himself.
He snatched the revolver off of the coffee table and walked up to the glass door. Long blinds blocked his view and he moved a couple of them over to check the backyard. His yard wasn’t fenced, but no zombies had wandered into the back.
Kyle glanced down at Butterscotch. “You wouldn’t want to go indoors, would you? Maybe over there in the corner?”
Butterscotch just whined and looked toward the door again.
“Stop being a wimp!” Kyle told himself. “No one is out there.” Kyle slowly drew back the blinds and checked again to see if anyone or thing was there. Grateful the yard was still empty, he grabbed the leash and attached it to Butterscotch’s collar.
The two exited the house. Luckily, Butterscotch moved slow and Kyle didn’t have to worry about her pulling him anywhere like she did whe
n she was younger. They walked to the halfway point of his yard. Butterscotch started to sniff and do circles.
“Hurry up, girl,” Kyle said. Almost on command, she began to use the bathroom. Kyle felt relieved. Kyle’s nose began to curl as a strong stench came on the wind.
“Hurry up!” Kyle nervously persisted.
She finished and Kyle turned to head back to the house. His spine turned to ice. Standing in between him and the house was Mrs. Tamberlake.
She stood staring at Kyle, wearing an old-fashioned nightgown. Her complexion was gaunt and pale. One shoulder was raised above the other as if it had locked in the wrong position. Dried brown blood caked her left leg just below an obvious bite wound that had removed a baseball sized amount of flesh from her calf.
“Miss…Miss Tamberlake?” Kyle said weakly.
She made no noise. No groans or grunts like the urban legends suggested. She reached out as she started to shamble in Kyle’s direction.
Butterscotch, to the surprise of Kyle, began to growl. He looked down to see her lip curled up above her fangs. Kyle took a step back and Butterscotch moved forward, standing between the two. Scared she might get hurt, Kyle yanked on the leash and backpedaled more, creating distance between him and Mrs. Tamberlake. Butterscotch fought him, but she was still old and couldn’t help but follow.
Kyle dug into his pocket and pulled out the revolver. The holster was still on the pistol, and he quickly discarded it. As his once sweet, now undead neighbor limped toward him, Kyle raised the revolver and tried his best to aim like his mother taught him. But his heart pounded so hard his eyes reverberated with every beat.
He pulled the trigger and the blast was deafening. Glass shattered behind the zombie and the sliding door spider webbed and broke apart.
Kyle gritted his teeth and tried to focus. It wasn’t easy. He was trying to use two hands and Butterscotch was pulling on her leash.
He fired again. This time, the bullet impacted Mrs. Tamberlake’s chest, rocking her backwards. She momentarily halted, but soon continued toward Kyle. When she was just four feet away, Kyle panicked. He pulled the trigger over and over, firing the last four shots.
The second shot hit home, smashing through her nose and blowing a reddish grey mist out the back of her skull. The late Mrs. Tamberlake went limp and fell at Kyle’s feet. Butterscotch pulled forward and sniffed her head, then turned back to Kyle. Seconds passed before Kyle exhaled. He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts straight.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get inside!” he said and pulled her to what was left of the sliding glass door. “No, no, no!” he said, remembering he had shattered the glass. His house was no longer safe. But the ammo was still on the coffee table and besides, he didn’t know where else to go. Kyle decided that he could always block the sliding glass door with the dining room table. He knelt down and picked up Butterscotch, worried that the glass would cut into her paws.
Kyle strained as he carried the canine into the house. Once he was clear of the glass, he put Butterscotch down with a tired sigh. The dining room table scraped the linoleum floor as he dragged it to the shattered glass door. With a heave, he flipped it on its side and with a shove, blocked the entrance into the house.
He took a step back and exhaled in disappointment. The table only stood four feet high. A toddler could easily push it out of the way.
Kyle sighed and went to the living room. He would have to leave. He grabbed the ammo boxes off of the table and was about to go to his room to get some clothes when something impacted the bay window. Butterscotch growled again, and Kyle jumped.
Another noise came from the front door. Kyle grabbed Butterscotch’s leash and spun to exit out of the broken sliding glass door.
Two zombies were approaching from the back yard.
The gunshots attracted them, Kyle thought.
Thinking about the gun reminded him that it was empty. He didn’t have much time. Quickly, he pulled out one of the ammo boxes and started to reload. He was nervous, and dropped the box on the floor, scattering bullets around the carpet. The bay window shattered just as Kyle emptied the shell casings from the revolver. He grabbed as many bullets as he could and loaded the pistol.
A zombie came crashing over the couch, causing Kyle to backpedal across the living room and fall on his backside. Three more of the undead were behind it, ripping the curtains down as they clamored to get in. A retching smell hit Kyle’s nostrils as the undead figure rolled to the floor.
A sliding noise from the kitchen told Kyle the zombies were moving the table out of the way. Butterscotch, old as she may be, growled and barked at the zombie who had climbed over the couch and was now righting itself.
The zombie was a young man, just a few years older than Kyle. Strands of a ripped and ruined T-shirt fluttered around an empty torso. Guts and flesh were missing, leaving an empty cavern where they use to be. One of the zombies in the window disappeared as Kyle loaded the final round into the pistol and slapped the cylinder shut.
Butterscotch barked and charged the zombie in the living room.
“No!” Kyle screamed too late. The old canine couldn’t jump anymore, so she dove in at the walking corpse’s leg, tearing into it ferociously. The zombie ignored her, and pulled itself toward Kyle. Butterscotch continued to rip and tear at the leg, spraying black ooze on the carpet. But it was only a minor delay for the hungry dead.
Kyle lifted the revolver and was a second away from pulling the trigger when the zombie’s head popped off of its body.
Horror struck him as the head flopped into the small fireplace. The body went limp and fell to the ground, just like Mrs. Tamberlake.
A tall, dark figure stood over the zombie. It was Mr. Attah. In his right hand he held the same machete that Kyle had seen the day before. Blood and black liquid covered the man’s jeans and shirt. But what shocked Kyle more was Saul’s left arm. Attached to his stump was a long spike. Saul had taken the iron poker from a fireplace and affixed it to the prosthetic harness. Black ooze dripped from the tip.
Noise from the kitchen stole Saul’s attention, and he marched out of view. Kyle scrambled to his feet and peeked around the corner of the dining room. Saul kicked one of the zombies in the chest, sending it back and to the ground. The second dove in, but Saul was quick with the blade and imbedded it into the zombie’s head. It stuck in the bone, and Saul let go of it as it dropped with the now motionless corpse.
The other zombie was trying to stand, but before it could get its feet set, Saul grabbed the hair and jammed the iron poker through its temple.
Kyle, unable to take in a full breath, squeaked “Mr. Attah…?”
Saul cocked his head toward the shocked teenager. He turned back around and put his foot on the head of the zombie he hacked with the machete. The blade was imbedded into the skull with the handle standing upward. Using the leverage of his foot Saul wiggled the machete free. The big man turned and wiped the blade on his jeans.
“You must come with me, child.”
*****
June 24th 12:13 PM
Saul waited impatiently as Kyle grabbed a few things. He was especially irritated when Kyle ran to his mother’s room and tore apart the closet. After frantic searching, Kyle found a thin binder and stuffed it into his backpack.
The two snuck back to Saul’s house. During the short journey, Saul dispatched three more undead. Kyle was amazed at how easily Saul handled them and he became convinced that the story of the lion was more than just a rumor. When they made it into Saul’s house, the man gave Kyle some food and disappeared into his bedroom. Kyle waited nervously for hours, but Saul never came out.
Around noon, the bedroom door opened. Kyle couldn’t help but think the man had been asleep. Saul’s eyes were bloodshot and more than once, he rubbed them with his lone hand.
“What now, Mr. Attah?” Kyle asked after Saul had taken a seat in a chair.
Saul turned his head and glared at Kyle. The gaze lasted for at least a minute, until S
aul turned and stared at the fireplace.
“Mr. Attah?” Kyle repeated.
“Call me Saul, child. That is my name,” Saul said after a moment.
“Okay, Saul. What are we going to do now?” Kyle pressed.
“I… I am not sure,” he responded.
Kyle grew disappointed. “Oh…” He thought Saul would have the answers. After all, he was an adult and was handling himself very well, considering the circumstances.
“Did you hear from your mother again?” Saul asked.
“Yes… well, no, I didn’t.” Kyle stumbled. He wasn’t sure what his dream meant.
Saul turned and glared again at Kyle. “Which is it, child?”
“Well, I kinda had a dream about her,” Kyle admitted. “But it was only a dream.”
“Tell me of this dream,” Saul demanded.
Kyle briefly relayed the dream he had the previous night, stammering under the intense stare of Saul.
“Do you think your mother is dead?” Saul asked coldly after Kyle finished.
“I-I don’t know. I hope not.” Kyle stared at the wood floor. Silence crept over the room and lingered until Saul spoke.
“We cannot stay here.”
“Where will we go? What if my mother comes back?”
“Your mother is dead, child. Of this, I am certain.”
“She can’t be,” Kyle whimpered. Tears formed around the rims of Kyle’s eyes. How could Saul say that to him? Was he really just a cruel old man?
Saul walked into the kitchen and loaded a backpack with supplies. “Your dream was a portent of her passing. Do not weep, child. Her pain is over.”
“How can you say that?” Kyle wiped his eyes.
“Because, it is true,” he said without looking at Kyle, and then continued to pack the bag.
“Where are we going to go?” Kyle asked as he stood.
“To find others. Maybe the police,” Saul answered as he walked over to the nightstand in the living room. He picked up the picture frame and stole a quick glance before storing it into his pack. He put the backpack on.
