The End

by P. A. Douglas

  The sky had changed from a baby blue to a multitude of colors. Purple, pinks, and yellows blossomed in the sky as the sun prepared its descent.

  “We need to get a set of wheels if we’re going to try for the station,” Kent said as he glanced out the front window through the blinds. He walked into the other room to join the others, realizing he had been mostly speaking to himself.

  They spent the first few minutes rummaging through the house. No one was home, and surprisingly, the back door was unlocked. The three of them found themselves in the kitchen discussing what to do.

  Kent sat on the countertop, and Cynthia was snooping in the pantry for something to eat.

  “I know we probably don’t have a ton of time to waste, but my house is only a few blocks away. I have to go there, see if my parents are alive. I just have to know,” Eric said with a lukewarm Dr. Pepper in one hand, the other rubbing his sore shoulder.

  “We need a car and some real weapons,” Kent said and eyed the gory crowbar on the countertop beside him.

  “For now, I think we can grab a baseball bat or two. When we make it to my house, I’m sure I can find my dad’s revolver—assuming it’s still at the house. Nothing else comes to mind.”

  Cynthia stood munching on a bag of barbeque chips, looking out the window in the kitchen above the sink. There wasn’t much to look at other than the adjacent house and the fence line. “Whatever the plan is, I think we need to do it now. We’re burning daylight.”

  “Hell, I’m ready when you are,” Kent said, hopping down from the counter, purposefully bumping into Cynthia, but trying his best to make it look like an accident.

  He reached up to catch her as his bodyweight sent her a little off balance. Kent wasn’t born yesterday, he knew good and well how to read the ladies—regardless if the world was going to hell. As he grabbed hold of her, he slowly let her go, bringing her into himself slightly while making sure to maintain eye contact for as long as possible. It was obvious she liked it.

  Eric exited the kitchen and started pulling everything out from the hall closet. He found what he was looking for and even knew where to look. He retrieved two baseball bats. One was made of wood and the other was aluminum. The countless sleepovers in middle school came in handy. Before they stepped a foot into the house, he was aware that there would be zero guns in there, so he didn’t bother checking things out upstairs. He only yelled out to anyone that might be home, and after a moment without any response, he went about his business, looking through all the rooms.

  Cynthia and Kent made it into the living room at the front door of the house. Eric held both bats up, smirking at Cynthia, wondering which one she would choose.

  “The aluminum one is lighter,” Eric said.

  She nodded and took it from him. They stood by the front door, weapons at the ready, eyeing one another. “Déjà vu anyone?” Cynthia laughed as they all stood there crouched in close, weapons up high.

  They all smiled.

  Something about Cynthia was starting to change. She seemed more relaxed than when they first met, but more in an unhinged way than from building confidence. She smiled a lot more, and given the current set of situations, that just didn’t seem right.

  “We’re following you, dude man,” Kent said from behind Eric.

  A few steps out the door and Eric immediately met a zombie’s face with the business end of his wooden bat. Blood exploded into the sky as the wood collided with the zombie’s nose, breaking its face. The zombie fell back, knees bent.

  The race was on. Several zombies in the yard and along the street took notice, but they didn’t bother pursuing. All three noticed the massive mud trail leading off down the road to their right as they passed up the adjacent street and continued down the block headed left. The mud led out into the street from the back yard onto the driveway and into the street.

  Eric pointed and they all nodded in agreement, faces thankful for whatever had aided them in thinning the horde.

  Mmm… I don’t normally date older women, but damn that’s nice. Not really taking into perspective that she was only a few years older than him, Kent trailed behind Cynthia as they swiftly made their way down the street, along the sidewalk, at a quiet, yet steady pace. Her ass shook vigorously with each step. Her clothes ragged and stained, the pant leg on the left side split up the seam slightly past the knee, revealing the back of her silky white leg.

  Must have happened when that obese zombie fell on her, Kent thought.

  Her shirt was partly covered in dried blood and most of her was covered in soot. Handprints covered each cheek of her pants from where she had patted herself down before. Kent was slightly turned on just watching her tote that baseball bat. It made her seem all business, red hair bounced down her shoulders onto her thinly built frame. Sure she might have been a little out of shape, but who wasn’t at her age.

  “Would you quit looking at my ass and pay attention?” Cynthia said.

  They had stopped on the sidewalk. Eric was crouched behind a thick tree, pointing his blood-stained bat at a red, one-story house only a few mailboxes down. This part of the neighborhood was closer to the main road, only a block and a half from the Publix grocery store off Highway 77. There wasn’t a single zombie in sight. However, they heard the sound of their cries from where they stood. Fire crackled in the distance, and the smell of something burning was apparent.

  Motioning them in close while keeping his voice low, Eric said, “We probably have less than thirty minutes of daylight left, and there’s no telling how long we have to get to the radio station. When we get to my house, there are some backpacks in the closet in the living room. I want you to both get one each and make for the kitchen. Get some dry goods. If we get stuck out there, I want to be able to eat tonight.”

  “But I was beginning to like my man-bag,” Kent said, yanking at Cynthia’s bag filled with bottled waters strapped over his shoulder. It made them all smile a little.

  “While you two get the food, I’m going to see what other weapons we can get and check on my parents. But, yes, lose the bag. I’m sure one of the backpacks will match your outfit.” Eric had ended the sentence with a nod and led them toward his house.

  *

  Eric sat on his parents’ nicely made bed, looking over the small revolver and four boxes of ammunition. Ninety-six bullets in all. Defeated, Eric sat there, muscles and mind finally giving way to the emotional and physical stress of the last several days. His parents were nowhere to be found in the house. For all he knew, the whole town, possibly the whole world, was overtaken by cannibalistic madness.

  The last time that he had talked with his parents was at the dining room table while playing dominos and telling stories. Despite his age and the statistical B.S. that went with it, Eric was very close to his parents, even in the middle of his teenage angst. He missed them greatly.

  Looking over at the gun on the bed, he thought about the day that his dad decided he was old enough to learn gun safety. He was still only a little kid then but remembered it clear as day. The fancy case with foam insulation on the inside, and the just-like-new smell that had filled his nose with its aroma. His dad wasn’t ever really big on guns, but with Eric’s mom being highly allergic to dogs, they decided some type of protection would be a good idea.

  Eric recalled the several times that his father took him to the gun range, to teach him how to properly use a weapon. This, of course, wasn’t until later when he had gotten a little older. Eric loved doing things like that with his father. This one-on-one time reminded Eric of the movies and television shows he saw on TV and how they depicted life should be. His dad was generally quite busy, so what time was given to Eric was cherished.

  Eric let out a big sigh, picked up the gun and ammo, then headed out of the room, but not before glancing in the mirror. His face was filthy; his entire body was too. Covered from head to toe in dried blood and soot, Eric finally caught a glimpse of his jacket. The shoulder that had been bitten looked beyond repai
r. That sucked, because that was his favorite jacket.

  Shrugging off his appearance, Eric stepped out into the hall and into his room across the way. Posters of sports players and girls in bikinis covered his wall, along with several gaming posters. A few finished and unfinished model cars sat atop his dresser. A small television hooked to a gaming system was stacked in the closet above his clothes. Eric was a typical American kid and he knew it. He never got into drugs like some of his other friends and was better off for it. That’s probably why Tyler and he were close friends. The older Eric got, the harder it was to keep good friends around that didn’t want to try getting you into something not worth messing with.

  Eric grabbed a change of clothes from his dresser and tossed the torn jacket into the closet. He threw on a clean pair of jeans and a plain white undershirt, with the same sneakers he had on before. After sifting through the closet for his backpack, Eric realized that he had left it on the school bus. Luckily, he had an extra one in the closet. He filled it with a change of socks and underwear, along with the ammunition for the gun. He checked the gun to make sure it was loaded and clipped the holster to his belt. He thought it a good idea to have extra bullets on hand and reached into the bag to pull out a few to stick in his front pocket.

  “Well, shit, man. You clean up well,” Kent said as he stood in the doorway, Cynthia right behind him on her tippy toes peering over Kent into the room. They both had on backpacks and had their weapons in hand.

  “We ready to do this or what, dude?” Kent said looking down at Eric, who was on his knees in the room, stuffing his backpack, shoving bullets into his pocket.

  Regardless of him changing into a new pair of clothes, Eric was aware that he looked just as outlandish as the two that stood at his door. The water was off at the Wellington house, so they didn’t even bother trying it here. He stood, tossing the bag around the un-sore appendage, face and arms covered in muck, and not a single spot of dirt on his attire.

  “Almost.” Eric grinned, pulling the mattress up and away from the wood frame exposing several magazines and a single key on a key ring. “Anybody want to go for a ride?” Eric stepped forward, tossing the key into the air, then snatched it back in midair with the same hand.

  “We found a few extra waters, some chips, mixed nuts, and an apple for each of us,” Cynthia said as the three of them made their way down the hall. A dozen frames hung on the wall with photos of friends and family, along with the occasional photo of a happy moment in life. One of which was a picture of Eric and his dad halfway leaning over the hood of a junked out car, each covered from fingertip to elbow in grease, smiling. That picture was a few years old.

  “Hey, this must be you and your folks. You look just like that man,” Cynthia said.

  Both Eric and Kent had made it into the kitchen and looked back to find Cynthia still standing in the hallway eyeing a photo. Having lived in that house his whole life, Eric didn’t need to see what picture she was looking at. He could just tell by where she stood in the hall as to which picture she was referring.

  Slightly agitated, and with a hint of distress, Eric snapped off, “Ya, that’s my dad and mom, we had just ridden the Tower of Terror. Are we going or what?” Eric stood by a door in the kitchen that led into the garage.

  “Gosh, sorry I even brought it up.” She made her way into the kitchen; the garage door was already open.

  Eric stepped into an old El Camino. Kent stood at the passenger door with the door open.

  “Ladies first,” Kent said raising one hand palm up.

  The car didn’t look like much aside from the new paint job, but it cranked up, not quite just like new, but good enough. Eric clicked the headlights on and pressed the garage door opener. Nothing happened. He pressed it again.

  “Shit, the power’s out. I totally forgot.” Eric opened the driver side door and stepped out.

  With the rev of the engine, and the headlights at his back, Eric’s shadow shot up one side of the garage door as he leaned in pulling it over his head. The darkness startled him, unaware that night had fully arrived. The headlights instantly illuminated the outside world. Eric stood for a moment trying to let his eyes adjust as he looked out into the street. He didn’t see a single zombie. Where could they be? Where did they all go? Eric thought of the muddy street by Tyler’s house for a moment.

  “What’s he doing?” Kent asked, sitting in the passenger seat with Cynthia beside him, his left arm across the headrest behind her.

  She just looked back at him as confused as he was.

  A zombie lunged out from the shadows beside the house and landed on top of Eric. The creature wrestled Eric to the ground, snarling and biting. His back to the floor, he had his arms out trying to keep the thing’s teeth at bay. Both Eric’s and the attacker’s shadows stretched across the driveway from the headlights. With the headlights beaming down right in front of them, Eric could see everything perfectly clear.

  The zombie’s skin was white as a ghost and tight to the bone. Its cheeks caved into its face, along with its eyes. Both of the creature’s lips looked as if they had been torn off, or even eaten off, revealing most of its teeth, and a good amount of its gums. The corpse’s gum line was discolored. No longer its natural red, they looked puffed up, a grayish purple. Blood was caked around its mouth and chin. Its thin frail arms reached out at him, Eric held onto them both without much trouble.

  The zombie must have been small to begin with, because it didn’t seem to weigh much at all. It was more being startled that brought Eric to the driveway than the actual attack. With its arms stretched out, Eric saw that it was missing an index finger and thumb on one hand. It didn’t seem to be bleeding. The area around the flesh was a puffy gray and red. The blood was clotted, preventing it from bleeding out. Then again, this thing could have been dead long enough that it already bled out everything it had.

  Eric heard the sound of the passenger door open and footsteps headed in his direction from behind the car. The steps passed him and kept on going. While still wrestling with the small zombie, Eric caught a glance of Kent in the yard swinging his crowbar.

  The frail zombie flew from atop Eric and onto the driveway beside him. As Cynthia’s aluminum bat came crashing down, her legs in a wide stance practically straddling Eric, he flinched covering his face with his left arm. A cold, wet fluid splattered across Eric’s arm and chest as the bat slammed into the ground beside him. After only a few swings, the bat made a pinging sound as cement met aluminum. It had only taken two solid hits for the zombie’s rotting skull to collapse, shattering in two. The remaining hit from her bat cleared the zombie’s skin, bone, and brain colliding with the driveway beneath it.

  “Fuck, me,” Eric spat as Cynthia helped him to his feet in front of the El Camino.

  Kent still stood in the yard, swinging his metal club furiously, attacking the lingering zombies that had finally started to make their way up the road. Several other zombies began to gather from the other end of the street as well, making their way toward the Micson household.

  “Let’s go,” Eric shouted dashing around the open driver side door.

  Kent quickly turned and made for the car. The three of them jumped into the vehicle, slamming both doors simultaneously. Eric gripped the steering wheel, and hit the gas, taking them out past the driveway into the street.

  More than a dozen zombies littered the street in front of the house, something Eric was unable to see before from the garage, the street pitch black, no streetlights to brighten them.

  As the car barreled down the neighboring streets toward town, Eric frantically took turns left and right, speeding past stop sign after stop sign, the gas gauge well past E. The car slammed into a wandering zombie as it reached out for the oncoming car—sending the zombie barreling over the hood of the car into the back bed. As the zombie stood up in the back of the car, it instantly lost its balance and fell out of the car, smashing into the road.

  The gas light suddenly lit up, getting their
attention as they flew down the street at nearly 50 mph, passing house after house with not a single sign of life.

  4

  The Rhino Runner tore down Highway 231 southbound at a steady 65 miles per hour, which was saying a lot for the oversized armored bus. The two-man extraction team consisted of Megan Linkouscie and Luke Beal.

  Megan was a spitfire of a woman with more skeletons in her closet than Saddam Hussein. She had served two terms in Iraq, dealing in civilian and VIP transport in and out of the Green Zone, without a single fatality to count against her during each term. That is if you are only counting the lives she was commissioned to protect. The truth was, she had more kills than skeletons. Her favorite weapon of choice had been the M-4 carbine compact rifle, with its variable selective fire rate and lightweight casing, never left her side. It’s my visa, she would always say, knowing she could hold her own in any situation.

  Luke wasn’t quite as cocky as Megan; it wasn’t part of his personality. He had an inborn air of confidence. He had worked one term in Iraq alongside the infamous Linkouscie, transporting civilian contractors, military personnel, and the press, generally from one base to another. Although Luke was a natural marksman, he usually took the wheel when handling missions involving the Rhino Runner, leaving Megan to handle the odds and ends of each extraction. Of course, that had been years ago. The Rhino Runner they piloted was military surplus. These vehicles weren’t meant to be driven on American highways. But with the rise of the undead and the situation becoming critically chaotic both politically and globally, they had been sent in to help the Tallahassee base contain the spread. But they both knew better. Something this viral would eventually be uncontainable, and quite possibly already was well beyond the borders they were sent in to help protect.