Loose Ends: A Zombie Novel

by Jay Wilburn

  They were all coming up the porch steps. As the first one stepped through the door, more were walking up onto the porch. I looked through the boards. There were a dozen more spread across the front yard looking at the house. I remembered the back door was boarded shut. I looked down the hole Shaw had busted through the floor with the zombie’s head. I wasn’t sure which version of hell I was more afraid to face. We could face an army through the door or let them chase us under the house.

  Doc walked toward Chef with his back to the ones entering the house and stepping around the hole in the floor.

  Doc said, “Step back, if you want your head.”

  Chef let go and took several steps back. The blind zombie turned toward Doc’s voice and reached. Chef pointed at the front door. More were walking in slowly. More were walking up the steps outside. Doc swung collapsing most of the wall under the stairs as the zombie finally fell to the living room floor dumping out what was left in its open head.

  The one that came through the door first stopped as the others spread into the room. His long hair hung over his narrow face in greasy, grey strings. The visitors were thin, their clothes hung on them threadbare and torn, and they all looked hungry.

  Doc turned and froze.

  The one in front opened his mouth as he looked at each of us.

  He said, “You boys don’t read so well, do you?”

  Chapter 10: The Day We Served up Our Best

  “We read fine,” Doc said. “We passed your sign and kept going until we got here. We’re going to keep going too and not ever come back to bother you.”

  The black man with long stringy hair said, “Yeah, that sign said you were deep in our territory. We saw you at the shrine too. Did you find anything you liked? Take a few souvenirs?”

  “No,” Chef said.

  “No?” the man said as he looked at Chef through the grey strings in his face. “No, you didn’t go in the shrine like my boy said or no, you didn’t take anything?”

  The men began to walk around behind us in the living room as the grey-haired man spoke.

  “Why don’t you all stay where you are while we talk this through?” Chef said.

  “Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” the man countered.

  The men continued to surround us. Doc reached slowly for the .45 in his belt. Several men raised harpoon guns with the think, wooden bolts projecting out of the bores. The leader shook the hair back from his face and smiled.

  He said, “Listen, troll head, you don’t want to be the example. We’re going to be holding your weapons at the end of this conversation. You are deciding whether you are going to be dead when that happens.”

  Doc lifted his hand away from the gun. The leader nodded causing his hair to fall into his face again.

  He said, “Good choice, brother, we would have speared you dead before we’d let you fire off that zombie whistle in our territory.”

  The man nodded. The others began lifted weapons and items from our pockets. Doc was the only one with guns and one was empty. They took his bar from him and he looked particularly pained. They searched through my pockets and pulled out the cards.

  The man took the cards from the guy who was searching me. He spread out the wadded up news story that I never got around to reading. He partially unfolded it and then just tossed it down the hole in the floor. He looked through a few items from the others’ pockets as the men passed stuff to him.

  He said, “David Sharp and Dexter Lyons … You boys do collect souvenirs.”

  Chef’s face contracted and it looked like he had been punched in the chest when he saw the licenses and heard the names.

  Doc said, “Those were old friends of ours we got around to burying recently.”

  The man threw the licenses in the hole.

  He said, “Davis Holland, culinary photographer?”

  Chef said, “That’s me. That was me before all this started.”

  “What kind of man takes pictures of food instead of cooking it?” he asked.

  He threw the business card through the hole under the house.

  “I cook it too,” Chef said.

  The man said, “Collin Trasker, occupation unknown? Show thyself and be counted.”

  Doc looked at me and answered, “That’s me. I’m a cook too. We’re all cooks now.”

  He threw the card from the locker down the hole.

  “You guys run a traveling show?” the man said as he turned to look at Shaw and me. “Who are you two, then?”

  Shaw answered for me, “He’s called Mutt. He’s mute; can’t speak.”

  The man snapped. “I know what mute means, shit head. Your name, shit head?”

  Short Order answered, “Shaw Porter.”

  Everyone in the room visibly startled. The man walked across the floor and slapped Shaw across the face. Doc took a step forward and got harpoon guns held against his chest, back, and head. The man looked at Doc briefly and then back at Shaw. He grabbed Shaw’s chin.

  He said, “You have to earn the right to say that. Those shrines you walked on back there earned the right to say it. Those of us who have lost mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters waiting for Shy to return have earned that. Shit heads just passing through Free Soil for which they have not been striped do not get to say that. Now, try one more time to tell me what your name is before I cut out your tongue.”

  Shaw just stared up at him. The man reached inside his coat and rested his hand on the blade of his own knife. Doc yelled out and got thrown down to the floor for it.

  He said, “That’s his name.”

  After Doc hit the floor, the man lifted his hand off his knife and waved the men to stop. They continued to hold Doc down.

  He said, “Check him.”

  Two men pulled Shaw to his feet. One pulled Shaw’s left sleeve ripping it open to reveal a bare, white shoulder. The other ripped open Shaw’s shirt revealing the other shoulder. He looked at the leader and the back at Shaw. He turned Shaw to show the leader. There was a brand of an “M” and an “H” formed in the raised skin. The letters shared a bar in the middle.

  The man said to the leader, “Look, Mason, Mad Hatter. It looks real.”

  “People cut those in,” the man he called Mason said. “Check his back.”

  They turned Shaw’s back toward Mason and pulled up his shirt. From where I sat on the floor, his back looked like it had been sliced to pieces. I saw a zombie dragged behind a car that looked like that once, but no one living.

  “Lift your arms,” the man holding Shaw said.

  They pulled his shirt off his head and revealed mangled scars that ran the entire length of his back. I realized Shaw had worn heavy clothes every day I had known him.

  “You got your stripes,” Mason said. “You were a slave under the Mad Hatter? You were there when Shy took his head?”

  Shaw was still facing away when he spoke.

  “I was held by Major Matthew Hadley and his men in the Green Zone,” Shaw said. “I was there the day a real hero sliced through his neck.”

  Mason said, “Give him back his shirt. Why are you passing through here?”

  Doc said from the floor, “We are running from the Riding Dead.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Mason yelled. “Why are you going back to the slave lands in the west?”

  Shaw was still facing away with his scarred back exposed.

  He said, “Our people in the Complex about 50 miles southeast of here were killed by the Riding Dead. We were looking for … somewhere else. They tried to capture us again. We escaped during a zombie attack and ran through here.”

  “That makes you fugitives,” Mason said. “You should have read the sign.”

  “You need to put one up on the other side of your property,” Doc grunted.

  Mason turned and said, “One more fucking word and I have one of my guys nail your head to the floor.”

  Mason waited. I actually expected Doc to speak even with a harpoon gun to the back of his head. He didn’
t. Shaw pulled his shirt back on and turned so that his branded shoulder was facing Mason through the tear in his sleeve. I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but Mason was looking at it when he turned back.

  Mason said, “You’ve earned your stripes in the faith of Shy, fugitive. Did you know Shy Porter? Did you see him?”

  Everyone in the room turned their eyes on Shaw including the ones holding their weapons on Doc.

  Shaw answered, “I was there when Major Hadley was killed. I … saw Porter. I guess I didn’t really know him at all. The Green Zone was overthrown by all the … branded. Heroes died that day so the rest of us could escape.”

  “Praise be to Shy,” Mason said.

  All his men chorused back. “Until he returns.”

  Mason said, “Not many of the Mad Hatter brands are still up and walking these days. Most died fighting in the Liberty Wars … unless they ran away. How did you survive?”

  “It was a confusing time,” Shaw answered. “We were scattered after the Green Zone fell. I eventually moved east.”

  Mason said, “I wish it was as simple as the enemies of the Riding Inbred were our friends, but that’s not the case at all.”

  Mason told us to stay inside with a few of his men while he went outside. He came back in as the sun was starting to set.

  He said, “I’ve sent some men ahead to prepare a place. There’ll be something to eat and a safe place to rest for the night. Then, we’ll escort you the rest of the way south out of our territory and beyond the path of the Riders. We are going to hold your weapons until you are there and then you’ll get them back. We cannot go west. That is Rezzer territory almost all the way down to Portown which has been subjugated by the Riders. They use it as a base of operation for slaving. The Riders and the Rezzers both have been capturing women and selling them to the slaver colonies farther west. Now they are capturing men again. We’ve been hunting and farming in hiding since the Riders defeated Portown and began demanding tribute and bodies from those they captured. We’ve been hiding in the woods for … a long time. The Riders are looking for you all and they’ve been sweeping the forest the last few days. We need to get you out now. Once we leave this house, we are on travel silence. No one speaks … You got that, Trasker?”

  Doc was jolted at hearing the name. He had been allowed to sit back up once Mason returned. He looked at me again.

  He said, “I got it.”

  ***

  Mason said, “We’re not getting dogged by zombies or worse tonight. So, if you have questions, ask them now.”

  Doc asked, “Who are the Rezzers?”

  Mason closed his eyes, “The Church of the Dark Resurrection … religion gone bad after the zombies rose … the worst kind.”

  Doc muttered, “Is there any other kind?”

  “If that’s a faith question, asshole,” Mason said, “The answer is yes. There is another kind. I imagine your mouth gets you into more trouble than it gets you out of, huh?”

  Chef actually snorted and then covered his mouth.

  Doc looked at Chef and then answered, “That’s a fair assessment.”

  Mason said, “Faith can’t be explained to a person who walks without the liberty of Shy in his heart. It is like explaining love to an undead mind. You just feed your belly without any liberty of thought.”

  Doc said, “Well, as of now, we are both alive, so I guess we should stick with what works.”

  “For now,” Mason responded, “Question time is over. Shut your traps and let’s go. Veteran Hatter, walk with me.”

  Shaw was near the front of the line. We went single file through the woods as it turned dark. Mason’s men were between each of us. No one spoke. I could not see other than to follow the steps and the shape in the darkness ahead of me.

  We stopped twice. Each time, Mason went ahead alone and came back. He waved us forward again.

  We walked out into a clearing after the second stop and a bright light flashed on driving out the darkness and blinding us. I was pushed forward. We were standing near a road. There was a slanted mile marker sign, but I couldn’t read it with the light glaring.

  Shaw said, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Times are tough,” Mason said.

  I couldn’t see what was happening. Then, Coop stepped into the light with his mirror sunglasses, bushy beard, and Riding Dead jacket.

  Coop said, “Oh, I could blow myself I am so excited.”

  There was a high pitched laugh that made my head and stomach hurt. Vike stepped into the light smoothing down his blond mustache with his left hand and holding a shotgun over his neck with the other.

  Vike said, “You folks owe me some eyeballs, a burger, and some more eyeballs.”

  “I know these three,” Coop said. “Who is this asshole you seem so proud of, Mason? Why is he worth your wife and daughter’s freedom to me?”

  Mason grabbed Shaw and turned him to show his right shoulder to Coop. Vike whistled and cackled. Vike reached out and touched the brand.

  He said, “Is that real?”

  Coop said, “Oh, this is worth something. I didn’t know there was a MoHo left on the planet. May I?”

  Coop took Doc’s aluminum bar from Mason who had been using it as a walking stick. He tested its weight and then swung. As his right arm snapped under the strike, Shaw screamed and fell to his knees.

  Doc ran forward. Vike dropped the shotgun off his shoulder and aimed it at Doc’s chest. Someone pulled a bag over my head and the world went dark again.

  Chapter 11: The Night We Applied Heat

  Someone was being beaten severely. I couldn’t tell who it was through the hood. I imagined Doc or Shaw with the aluminum pole. I wished we hadn’t gone back to the school for it. I wished we had never left the Complex. I wished my mother and sister had escaped and I had been eaten instead.

  “Give me a reason. Just give me a reason,” Vike yelled.

  The beating stopped. Someone was coughing and spitting.

  Mason said, “We need to finish this. Do we have a deal?”

  Coop said, “We’ve always had a deal, Mason, you just weren’t following it.”

  There was a long silence.

  Vike said, “Tell your elves to drop their stick guns.”

  “Those stick guns will stick you to your bikes, if you actually rode them,” Mason said.

  “You do remember what a bullet can do, don’t you?” Coop said.

  Mason said, “We’ve discussed terms. Let’s leave here alive.”

  “You’ve got back debt, Mason,” Coop said. “You guys took to hiding and stopped paying tribute. Old Cuss is willing to get back your daughter and mother from the Lighthouse Colony, but you’ve got to pay what you owe first. This doesn’t change that.”

  “My daughter and my wife,” Mason said.

  Coop said, “I don’t give a shit. You either have tribute or you’re not leaving until you do. That’s the deal. That’s always been the deal.”

  From the sound, someone was either running or fighting. The shotgun roared. Bolts from the harpoon guns released and speared into something metal. There was yelling and screaming and someone knocked me over. Someone heavy stepped on my hand.

  I reached up and pulled off my hood. The light had either gone out or was broken. There were flashes and the blasts of gunfire.

  I got up to run and tripped over a body. It was one of Mason’s men. I leaned on his arm to get up and saw the .45 in his grip. I pried it out of his warm, dead hand.

  Someone grabbed me and pulled me to my feet.

  Chef said, “Run, Mutt. Doc and Shaw are coming behind us. Don’t stop.”

  We left the road as the fighting continued and ran blindly through the brush. Lights came on again up on the road behind us. Vehicles started and more lights flashed on in the darkness. The vehicles began moving along the road and lights shown down into the brush around us. Chef pulled my arm and we ran deeper into the woods away from the road.

  We stopped.

 
Chef said, “I have to breathe.”

  Doc crashed through the trees behind us. He nearly ran his aluminum bar through my head as I ducked out of his way.

  He yelled, “Run! They’re right behind me.”

  We ran as shots were fired. I felt bark sting the back of my neck as part of the tree exploded out behind us.

  We slid down a slope and charged for more trees. They fired down on us in the open. It was dark, but they still came close. Lights flashed on as we put trees between us and them.

  We dropped down into a shallow creek and began running along the slick stones.

  Chef said, “Doc, where’s Shaw?”

  Doc called back, “Shut up or we’re all dead.”

  “Did you leave him?” Chef asked.

  Doc said, “I thought he was with you. Now-”

  More shots hit the water as lights danced over the slope in the trees beside us. Doc charged up the hill through the undergrowth and short pines. We followed. We found ourselves in the open.

  “We have to go back,” Chef said.

  “They’re behind us,” Doc huffed. “We can’t hide. We need to get across the field before they come out in the open.”

  Chef shook his head and wheezed, “We have to go back for Shaw?”

  Doc poked Chef hard in the center of his chest.

  He said, “I went back and nearly got my head beaten in, Davis Holland. It’s your turn.”

  Doc ran out into the open field without waiting for a reply. I stared at Chef and then at the lights moving toward us. They were splashing through the creek now. Chef grabbed my shoulder and we ran after Doc.

  The field was too large. Even in the dark, I could see the next line of trees was at least a quarter mile ahead. The men behind us were determined. We had done something to make them want us dead.

  The light was far from us when they came out of the woods. They also didn’t come out at the exact spot we had, but we were running flat out with no cover.

  One shot cracked through the air behind us. Doc came off his feet in front of us and whipped backward on to his back in the low grass.