by Locke, Linus
“You ask more questions than a little kid. Just relax. We’ll get there when we get there.” The Australian man was growing impatient, but he did like having the company.
“I bet this town was nice before this all happened,” Mark commented as they drove through the business district of the city. So tell me, did you actually get to see this place, or did you arrive after the outbreak?”
“Just between you, me, and the truck … I came here after,” Deacon answered.
“So you were never a firefighter?”
“I was a firefighter in Australia. After the attacks, I was sent here on a mission. I lost track of that mission for a while when I met Sophia. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I wanted to be with her and keep her safe. I figured the best way to do that is to complete my mission, so I’m back on track now.”
“What’s your mission?”
“I think you can guess what it is,” Deacon said.
With that, neither of them spoke for the next five minutes. Mark looked out the window as they drove by some buildings that he could only imagine looked very nice at one time. Thin patches of grass grew haphazardly in yards and were surrounded by bare spots from the lack of water during yet another one of California’s droughts. Apparently the undead didn’t care to water their lawns.
Deacon kept his window down as he drove, pulling up close to any wandering undead and driving the spike of his fire axe through their skulls. Mark would have usually left them alone if they wouldn’t be a bother to him, but he could understand how Deacon would want to clear them from his hometown or stop them from following him home.
Deacon’s heart raced as he pulled onto the street where the house that was once Jonathan’s sat. He was so close he could smell Sophia’s shampoo. Then his heart skipped a beat, maybe two, before taking off at a sprint again. The gate in the front was smashed in; chunks of the wall lay in heaps around the twisted steel bars. Deacon jammed the transmission into park before he even came to a stop and jumped out of the truck.
Mark climbed out and ran after him, stepping over the rubble that once protected Jonathan before being left to protect Sophia. Deacon ran much faster than Mark had expected he could, but he assumed it was adrenaline. He felt the fear that Deacon had felt as the two men ran through the busted garage door and into the kitchen.
Deacon looked around, his heart pounding in his ears, and released a primal roar that would have rivaled that of the strongest of beasts. Blood was splattered along the walls and pooled on the floors. Deacon felt his vision blur and tint red, then tears ran down his face. Running room-to-room, he searched hastily for any signs of Sophia or the twins. Un-holstering his pistol, Deacon subconsciously searched for any signs of them.
Mark took note of this and took a firm grip on his rifle. “Is this the place?” Mark asked.
“It was.” Deacon continued to search the main floor before running down into the basement. “This wasn’t fiends.”
“What do you mean?”
“There used to be a greenhouse and plenty of food down here. I mean, sure we had gone through a huge bit of what was stored, but there was still plenty. Someone took it all, including the greenhouse.”
“Who all knew about this place?” Mark continued to search the rooms in the basement.
“I don’t think anyone did. The only people who knew left it behind willingly,” explained Deacon.
“In here! Is this one of them?” Mark had found a dead woman in the back of the basement. She reached out to grab him, but he stepped out of the way and led her back toward Deacon.
“Oh god, please don’t let it be,” Deacon said as he walked back to meet them. He let out a relieved sigh and shot the dead woman through the eye, spraying her brains out of the back of her head. The shot was much louder than Deacon had anticipated. It took several minutes before the ringing in his ears stopped.
Mark followed as Deacon ran back upstairs and out into the back yard. The sun was bright now, as his eyes had adjusted to the dark basement. “They even took the propane and the generator,” Deacon said in hopeless frustration.
“Of course they did,” Mark agreed. He wasn’t sure exactly what Deacon was talking about, but he knew it wasn’t good.
“SOPHIA!” Deacon screamed. “SOPHIA!” He ran to the front yard, “ANDY–AMIE!”
Mark felt like this wasn’t going to bring them back, and that screaming was a bad idea. He saw the mess inside, and he had little doubt that they hadn’t made it out alive, but he gave Deacon his space and the time he felt he needed. Mark took this time to walk down the driveway and bring the Tundra up into the driveway.
“I’m so sorry, Deacon,” Mark said awkwardly as Deacon joined him on the down tailgate of the Tundra. “I have peas or corn.” He held up two open cans of vegetables.
Deacon took the peas and tipped the can into his mouth. “Thanks,” he said with a mouthful. He looked down the street and watched as the fiends approached. “You can leave now if you want.”
“No, I came with you, Deacon. I’ll stay by your side,” Mark said before tipping the corn into his mouth.
“There is a ladder in the garage that leads to the roof. We fall back there if we need to … if we live long enough.” Deacon finished off the peas and hopped down from the tailgate. Mark finished his own lunch quickly and followed the man down the driveway toward the oncoming horde. “Kill them all. I don’t want Sophia or the twins walking around like that. I’ll sort them out and bury them if we survive.”
Mark nodded his understanding, but Deacon didn’t see it. He didn’t need to. Mark raised his rifle and started firing off rounds into the dead crowd. They hadn’t reached the wall yet, but they were moving in quickly. Both men could feel their hearts hammering, but neither faltered. They would stand their ground like outlaws in a Wild West shootout.
Deacon grabbed his pistol and aimed carefully before each squeeze of the trigger. Every shot mattered, especially when a sea of rotting flesh flooded down the street. Fiends dropped as every skull shattering slug found its target. Some rounds managed to put down more than one of the rotting fiends. Deacon soon regretted choosing such a small weapon, however, as the fiends had just reached the wall, and he had already reloaded twice.
Mark took a step back, but Deacon stood firm. He reloaded the pistol once more, emptied the magazine, and stepped toward his axe lying on the ground. “You won’t take them all with that, Deacon. You will wear yourself out. You won’t do anyone any good if you get yourself killed,” Mark pleaded as he continued to step back. He focused on the closest fiends as he continued to fire.
Dropping the empty pistol–the barrel smoking–Deacon reached down and picked his axe up off of the grass next to the driveway. He held it in both hands, feeling the weight of it. He had wielded this axe many times; he knew the weight all too well. He brought it with him from Australia. It had saved a number of lives before the attacks, helped stop the spread of many fires, but now it found a new life, laying the dead to rest.
The sharp axe sliced through the air and connected with the head of the first fiend unlucky enough to move too close. The first swing carried so much power that the blade didn’t even cut through the hard skull. Instead, it pulverized the bone and turned the brain into a slush as the force carried a shockwave through Deacon’s muscular arms and down into his abs.
Deacon swung again as the next fiend stepped closer. The skull split, causing the eyes to bulge out. The dead woman dropped to the ground, the axe still embedded in her head. Her arms twitched spastically for a few seconds after she fell. Pulling on the axe handle hard, it swung up, catching a dead man under the chin with the sharp spike. The impact caused some of the flesh on his neck to tear and knocked the glasses off his bloody face.
Some of the fiends dropped as their heads burst before Deacon had the chance to destroy them. This pissed Deacon off as much as it relieved him. He knew as well as Mark did that he couldn’t swing that axe forever. His plan was only to swing it until he couldn
’t anymore. Then a slight ping of hope hit him. Sophia and the twins weren’t fiends, they were taken by whoever came in and took their stuff.
Fear washed over him as he looked at the horde pouring in through the downed gate. He now knew he had to survive. He had to find them and kill the ones responsible. “Let’s get to the roof,” he ordered.
Mark loaded his last magazine and said, “I was really hoping you were going to say that soon.”
Deacon ran back toward the garage with Mark close behind. He prepared himself to jump as far up the ladder as he could then realized there was no ladder. “SHIT!” he yelled.
“What?”
“The ladder is gone.”
“They did take everything!” Mark hollered in dumb amazement.
“Through here.” Deacon ran through the garage door leading to the back yard and closed the door behind Mark. The two ran toward the wall and jumped, pulling themselves up to the top and looked out around them. All of the yards were teeming with the undead. The wall was nine feet tall, and only the taller of the fiends could even reach them. “Well, we will be alright until Shaq comes along.”
Mark was terrified at the thought of Shaquille O’Neal walking in to the yard, slam dunking any fiends that stood in his way, and grabbing them both off the wall. He imagined looking into the large man’s decaying face. His teeth could be seen through the rotted flesh of one cheek. Even a year after death, his powerful arms were dominating. “I hope Shaq is still alive.”
“Well. I’m sorry,” Deacon said as he reached out to shake Mark’s hand. “I should have never let you come with me.”
“Hey, it was my call, man.” Mark took Deacon’s hand. “Besides, we’ll get out of this.”
“How the hell do you figure?” Deacon chuckled.
“That.” Mark pointed out to a glimmer in the street. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but the roar of the engine was just hitting his ears.
“What is that?” Deacon asked as the fiends around them reached up in an attempt to grab the men who were just beyond their grasp. The roaring engine grew louder, and the black Dodge Ramcharger came into view. The chrome side pipes glistened in the sun’s radiance. The windows were heavily tinted, and the black rims were wrapped in thick Mickey Thompson rubber. A man stood up through the custom sunroof and began gunning down the fiends that hadn’t been run over by the monstrous truck. The four-hundred and forty cubic inch engine bellowed through the side pipes as it climbed over the bodies.
The black SUV came to a stop next to the wall where Deacon and Mark had moments before prepared themselves for death. Deacon was surprised that he had to step up onto the truck from the nine-foot high wall. The two men climbed down into the truck through the sun roof and looked into the face of Roger. Deacon let out a guttural laugh as he looked at his friend. Then he burst into tears as Sophia turned around in the driver’s seat.
“Hello, love,” she said tipping her bowler hat. She smiled, but it wasn’t a smile Deacon liked.
Chapter 15
Jonathan drove fast as the afternoon dwindled into night. He was pushing eighty-five miles-per-hour, which was a brisk jog for the powerful BMW, but he was comfortable and making great time. They had taken the long way on a few occasions to avoid cities and large towns. They were more fearful now than ever after meeting up with the cannibals.
Guillermo slept heavily in the back seat. He wasn’t comfortable, but his ammo box pillow was better than nothing. Jonathan could hear his head bounce off of it with each bump they hit. The BMW slowing down disturbed his equilibrium just enough to stir him from sleep. He sat up, rubbed some crust from his left eye, and looked around. “Where are we?” he asked.
“I am pretty sure this is Grandview. My dad said he used to terrorize this town when he was a kid. He lived here for about a year, I believe, but he was born and raised in Iowa City. This town had the biggest small town Fourth of July celebration, too, from what he told us. He always planned on bringing us out to see it. There is a fuel station up ahead. I am going to stop real fast and see if there is anything of value remaining.“ He stopped talking as he came around to the front of the gas station. The windows were busted out and black char marred the front of the store. Jonathan pulled off of the highway and turned into the dark parking lot.
“Someone didn’t like this place very much,” Guillermo said.
“Yeah.” Jonathan sighed in disappointment as he looked at the burnt storefront.
“Someone crashed their chopper.”
“What?” Jonathan looked across the street at the green helicopter lying on the dead grass and snow. “I am sure that everything useful is gone by now,” Jonathan said, unaware that it had actually been a Veterans Memorial.
“Are there more stores over that way?” Guillermo asked.
“No. No I do not think so. It is just a small residential area. I guess you could say that it is a bedroom community. I have a pretty good feeling that Michael would not be there. He would be closer to the river and supplies. I want to believe that he is in Iowa City, now. After all, that is where my aunt was, but I have a really strong feeling that he is closer to the river. According to the road signs, the city of Muscatine is up this way a few more miles. It is along the river, plus it is not a large city.”
“So there shouldn’t be too many fiends crowding the streets unless they migrated from other areas?”
Jonathan nodded. ”That is exactly what I am thinking. And if that is the case then it is our best bet.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“A few years back, my father was thinking about taking a job as a Biologist with a company here just to be closer to the rest of our family. We came out and stayed for about two weeks over the summer while he made his decision. Obviously he did not take the job and we moved back to California.”
“So maybe you’ll see some things that will bring back some good memories,” Guillermo said with a smile.
They climbed into the car and pulled back out onto the highway. It was a fifteen minute drive to the town of Muscatine, but Jonathan was going to make it in five. It started raining lightly as they blew by the dead fields on both sides of them. Long drifts of snow filled the ditches. The BMW didn’t slow any as it quickly approached a wide intersection. A few cars were tipped over on the sides of the road from when they were cleared out of the way either by the military or survivors.
“We should probably slow down a bit, my friend,” Guillermo said with just a hint of alarm. “We are down to a two-lane road here. You never know when something might get in our way.”
“I dropped down to fifty a while ago,” Jonathan said as they blew past a restaurant with a large ice cream cone jutting from the roof. He was welcomed by a brief flash of a memory. He could remember going to the Cheri Top Drive-In with his family. It was the type of place where the customers sat in their cars and the waitresses came out, took their orders, and brought their food out on a tray that was hung from the window. He ordered a double cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla shake that turned out to be much larger than he expected and more delicious, too.
He didn’t expect to come across a “good memory” so soon, and he hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he felt the car slide sideways as the tires broke free on the slippery pavement. It was ten degrees outside, and the rain froze quickly. None of Jonathan’s limited driving experience had been in these winter conditions. Elliot had driven into Colorado, and Guillermo drove most of the way here. What little road Jonathan had covered up to this point had been fairly dry.
Jonathan tried to correct the course of the BMW, but he wasn’t sure how. The car started to spin as it slid down the center of the road. There was a quick glimpse of what looked like a used car lot. Then a store, the only word he read was Farm as it was illuminated by the headlights before it disappeared behind a long white building. Their next view was that of a Bowling Alley. At this point, Jonathan closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more of this rotating world. Guill
ermo braced himself for the worst. As the BMW stabilized facing the opposite way it was sliding, Jonathan opened his eyes just in time to watch as the road swept out from under them. The stop wasn’t sudden. Instead, the BMW hit a snow pile, hopped up over it, and dug down deep into the other side.
“Shit!” exclaimed Jonathan. “I am so stupid.” He looked over at Guillermo, whose head hung at his chest. Blood dripped down the right side of his face and onto his shirt. “Shit!” Jonathan undid his seat belt and bolted from the car. He sunk in the soft, wet snow, and the cold crystals filled his shoes. “Shit!” he yelled again.
After fighting his way to the passenger side, he pulled the door open and laid the seat back. He checked for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. He placed his ear next to Guillermo’s face, hoping to hear him breathing, once again nothing. “You have to wake up. Guillermo!” he shouted as he slapped his friend’s face. Unsure of what else to do, Jonathan began chest compressions. He had never done CPR before, but he understood the concept.
Guillermo’s sternum popped under Jonathan’s hand as it broke under the pressure. He could cut open a fiend’s head and examine the brain, but hearing that sound from his friend’s body was almost too much. Pressing hard on the center of his chest, Jonathan realized he wasn’t even keeping count. He tipped Guillermo’s head back, plugged his nose, and blew into his mouth. He could taste Guillermo’s blood on his lips.
Jonathan gave Guillermo CPR for hours, maybe days, perhaps longer. That’s how it felt, but it was one minute and twenty-three seconds before he felt the heart beat in the palm of his left hand. It was faint, but it was there. He could see the mist from Guillermo’s warm breath as he exhaled into the bitter Iowa chill. Jonathan smiled, but he didn’t have time to celebrate.
He was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. The fiend had a tight grip on his wrist and twisted it hard in an attempt to break his arm. Jonathan used the soft snow to his advantage, pulling the fiend down on top of him and rolling him over. They slid a foot down the back side of the pile before Jonathan was able to work his way onto the fiend’s back. Jamming a knee in between the dead man’s shoulder blades, Jonathan opened the back door of the BMW and slammed it into the fiends head until the dead man stopped moving. Dry chunks of blood and flesh stuck to the door.
