by Damon Novak
A crooked smile touched his mouth. “I’ll go with the girls. Hope they have Sour Patch Kids!”
“Okay,” said Danny. “Terry, be alert man. Everyone else, check your pockets for spare magazines and let’s go.”
Ω
CHAPTER TEN
Danny and I led the group off the dock, onto the captain’s walk that led to the pumps and the small marine store.
“Whoa,” I said, stoppin’ short and holdin’ up my hand. I’d seen a lot already, but what lay on the dock in front of me sent my stomach into flip-flops. It was a child; a girl no more than ten years old.
“What’s that?” called Liam, from the rear.
“Y’all turn him away for a minute.”
I looked back to make sure they had, and saw Lilly and Georgie, hands on Liam’s shoulders. He faced away from us. Roxy saw why we’d stopped and knelt down to say something to the boy.
“Help me with her, would ya?” I asked Danny.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
The girl had been dismembered. The job looked clean enough, like someone had taken a mightily sharp blade and swung it with both hands. I could see where after choppin’ off her arms, the blade had sliced a nice wedge into her rib cage, just a few inches below the armpits on both sides.
“What kind of sick fucker gets off choppin’ up little kids?” I asked.
Danny just shook his head. Wrapped around the girl’s torso and severed limbs was a fishing net; she’d been caught in it when the blade fell, ‘cause her arms and legs were still there, layin’ beside the body. Her messed-up face pushed against the net as her perfect young teeth snapped together.
“Let’s just push her off into the water,” I said.
“We should finish her off first,” said Danny. “Don’t seem right to leave her like this.”
I closed my eyes and prayed he’d take it on. It was early, and the last way I wanted to start my day was by shootin’ a kid in the head.
Even a zombie kid.
To my relief, Danny pulled a small .380 from his belt holster and bent down. He pushed the barrel against her forehead as her strange growlin’ grew more intense.
He fired once, and her eyes stared skyward, sightless.
“What was that?” asked Liam, still turned around.
“C’mon,” I said, and grabbed the net up by her head. Danny caught hold of it by her severed left leg, and we dragged her body a foot or so to the edge of the dock. With a grunt, we rolled her over the ledge into the water, where she hit the jagged rip-rap and flipped face down into the water.
We watched as she floated there for a couple of seconds, then sank down, disappearin’ beneath the surface.
“It’s one thing to kill ‘em,” I said. “It’s another to chop up a little kid. Didn’t even kill her, for Christ’s sake.”
“Can I turn around now?” asked Liam, his tone impatient.
I looked back, caught Georgie’s eye, and nodded. The girl’s body was out of sight now.
When we turned again, there were three people, all comin’ at us from different directions. They walked in that shamblin’ way I’d grown used to, and seein’ them made me look for gators and crocs, too.
“Think my gun drew them to us?” asked Danny.
“We know they can hear still,” I said. “Maybe we need to get some spears or somethin’.”
“Or knives,” said Lilly.
I turned. “You really wanna get that close? Plus, it’s easy to pierce a skull with a bullet. Not so much with a blade.”
“Let’s get this done,” said Danny. “All of a sudden, I’m feelin’ pretty exposed.”
A gunshot rang out from behind us, and everyone spun around.
Except Liam. He was already facin’ behind us, his Henry’s barrel lowerin’ by the time we all saw.
He’d shot a rotter that was about five feet behind him. I hadn’t seen it, and he didn’t call out or anything.
It was strange; we all just stared at the thing’s body, waitin’ for it to move. It didn’t, which told us all that Liam’s shot had been accurate.
I almost yelled at him to call out – you know, the old ‘see somethin’, say somethin’’ requirement. Instead, I called, “Nice work, kid. Good job.”
I saw both Lilly and Georgie smile at me. I responded with a nod and turned back, seein’ the other three were much closer now, but still movin’ slowly.
There was a NO PARKING sign leanin’ at about a 15-degree angle to my right. It was mounted on a square, galvanized steel tube, about 2”x2”. I went to it, pushed it and pulled it a few times, and yanked straight up. It pulled out of the ground.
“Perfect,” I said. The end was pointed for easy penetration into the earth. “We’ll do this quieter. You guys keep walkin’ and keep your eyes out for more.”
I trudged across the grass toward the older man in a red tee shirt. When I got to within about ten feet, his staggerin’ pace seemed to increase, and his growlin’ took on a more fevered pitch.
I started to wonder about their eyesight. I knew their eyes were clouded from early on, but beyond wonderin’ how they could see at all, I hadn’t given it much thought.
Now I figured they only saw blurry images from more than about 10 feet away. As close as we were now, either my smell or his eyes told him I was food.
He moved toward me, and I planted my feet, my gun tucked away and the pointed signpost in my hands like a javelin. When he was about four feet away, I jabbed forward, hard.
The crack of the bone was sickening. My post sank through the broken skull about four inches, and I gave it a little twist.
His legs buckled at the knees and as I yanked backward, he fell forward, face down and dead.
The women were harder for me; I’d always seen myself as a man who’d stand up for any woman in distress, and it was hard to argue these women weren’t.
It was just too fuckin’ late for them.
Based on the bikini she wore, she’d been on the beach when she’d been bitten. I saw the teeth marks clearly on her right thigh, and I could also figure out that she jerked her leg away, because the skin was torn and hangin’ down toward her foot.
Now she came at me. This time I figured I’d come up under her chin. I held the post in my hands, lettin’ it hang down about hip level.
“Hey, you! Right here!” I called, tryin’ to keep my voice low enough that she could hear me, but I didn’t draw any more of them in my direction.
I heard a sharp sound off to my right and jerked my head to see the small market’s door bouncin’ off the frame. I didn’t like that they’d let it shut like that. I knew they were probably inside, cursin’ themselves for the error, too.
At my initial call, the girl had turned toward me, but at the sound of the door slammin’, she instinctually turned toward the market. Shakin’ my head, I jogged around, stoppin’ a couple feet in front of her.
“That’s right,” I said. “Just a little closer, sweetheart.”
At that moment, the clear sight of her captivated me; guess I hadn’t really looked at details before.
The bite, pronounced on her leg, had blood-red maggots burrowin’ in, givin’ her wounds a shimmerin’ effect. Her throat vibrated a new growl, and her ugly-ass tongue poked out, lickin’ away another couple of maggots that had settled into a pustule on her face.
Oh, hell no. That was all I could take. My head got light and I felt that goddamned vomit comin’, but if I wanted to stay alive, I had to act, right then. I know for a fact – you know, from my younger days – that you can’t puke with your eyes open.
At least I can’t. And I wasn’t closin’ my eyes right then, or stoppin’ the barf.
I pulled the post back like a battering ram, then swung it in an upward arc, the point piercing her neck just below her chin. As it hit, her lower jaw slammed into her upper jaw, sendin’ broken teeth shootin’ toward me, just before my instrument of death jammed straight up into her rotten brain.
I’ll admit,
I turned my head by the time the steel post broke through the top of her skull.
She fell backward and took the post with her. I felt it pullin’ from my hands and let it go before the tweaked edges of the sign amputated one of my fingers.
I heard a low whistle and turned to see Danny standin’ by the kiosk. He threw me a thumbs-up, and then he pointed at the last walkin’ zombie, noddin’ his head.
I knew him so damned well. The first motion said he got the pumps powered on. The second asked if I needed help.
I shot back a reciprocal thumbs-up in response and walked forward to yank my post from the girl’s neck. The last zombie was moving toward our boat as the signpost pulled out with a nasty, wet sucking sound.
The damned post now felt like it weighed a ton. I stopped for a second and leaned on it while I analyzed the scene.
I spotted Terry sittin’ on the deck, but he didn’t see me, because his head was back. The dude looked like he was on vacation.
“Terry!” I called, but that only confirmed what I already knew; the motherfucker was wearin’ ear buds or somethin’. I was startin’ to be sorry we’d shut Nokosi in the salon, ‘cause she’d have warned him for sure.
I started runnin’ toward the boat. I would easily make it there before the deadhead, but with Terry listenin’ to goddamned headphones, he’d have no idea of the danger approachin’.
I started to slow down, easin’ back into a walk. The man, wearin’ blue jean shorts and a Corona Especial tee shirt, had just stepped down onto the dock. He might or might not make it onto the boat, but I hoped he did.
Terry started fuckin’ with somethin’ in his hand, and I realized he was lookin’ at whatever device he was usin’ to play his music. I was sure when he was done he’d look up and scan the area around him, but nope.
He leaned back, his arm thrown over the bench cushions beside him, his rifle layin’ across his lap. I couldn’t see it, but I was sure his foot was tappin’.
Without me, he would be lucky to have his foot in a few minutes.
Or skin. Or eyes.
I stepped down onto the wood planks of the dock and gained on the rotter fast. As he reached the boat, now shufflin’ just seven feet or so from where Terry sat, I watched as the thing tried to navigate the step from the dock to the boat.
If I’m bein’ honest, I gave him a little help. I snuck up behind him and put my post against the small of his back and assisted the stinker with a little push.
You see, it’s hard for me to pass up a teachable moment, much as I hate the fuck outta that term. Teachable moments could be fun, and after killin’ bikini girl, I needed a little fun.
The dead son-of-a-bitch staggered onto the Sea Ray’s deck as I watched. I secured my grip on the post again, two-handin’ it. I then stepped aboard, stayin’ just a couple feet behind it.
Terry now leaned back against the bench seat, his face anglin’ toward the risin’ sun, his eyes closed. I swear he looked so at peace, I envied him right then. I was never a sun worshipper, but I recognized bliss when I saw it.
I think the fuckin’ zombie was a little taken aback, too. It was like he didn’t quite know what to do if his food wasn’t runnin’ from him. He and I stood just three feet from where Terry sat, oblivious.
I kept one eye on the thing and turned my head to see Danny standin’ on the grass, the fuel nozzle in his hand. My buddy was smilin’ at me. He knew what I was up to.
The man-monster in the Corona shirt reached out its arms toward Terry, ready to fall forward. In one motion I sidestepped the rotter, kicked Terry in the left knee with my boot and jabbed out with the post as hard as I could.
The crackin’ skull I’d heard and felt with the first one I’d killed that mornin’ was nothin’ compared to this one. I swear, it caved in half the guy’s head before it plunged into his brain. It fell forward, bouncin’ off Terry’s legs before he had a chance to jerk them back. His eyes got as wide as saucers, as the scream erupted from his throat and kept on comin’. Before I knew it, he’d scrambled backward so fast, he flipped over the edge of the boat.
“Oh, shit,” I said. The splash I heard sent chills through my spine.
Not so much for what happened to Terry; for the shit I was gonna get from the girls.
Danny’s laughter bellowed as he held the pump out and showed me he had power by squeezin’ the nozzle and squirtin’ diesel onto the ground.
He walked it over to the boat while I grabbed the longest boat hook and hurried to the rail. Terry was already splashin’ toward the ladder mounted on the dock faster than I’d seen him move since we ran outta Hemingway’s house.
“You tiresome, backwoods asshole!” he yelled, splashin’ more water than movin’ himself forward. “That how you get your goddamned kicks? What about the crocs? You know they’re in the water!”
“I didn’t know you’d jump in the water!” I said, tryin’ to keep from bustin’ out laughin’ again. “I was just tryin’ to teach you a lesson. You serious, man? Headphones? With damned zombies around? And I’d recommend less splashin’, too. Draws the crocs.”
He immediately moved to a quiet dog paddle, his eyes dartin’ side-to-side, his face frantic. I didn’t really care the kid called me backwoods, but I did notice. Hell, I’d run into a thousand college students over the years workin’ at Baxter’s, and just from my manner of speakin’, most of ‘em just assumed I didn’t have a college education. Might’ve been my imagination, but they treated me accordingly; talked slower and used simple words.
They were right about me, of course, though I did know a whole slew of four-syllable words.
Or is that four-letter words?
Anyway, I made my assumptions about them college boys, too. I assumed those squishy soft fuckers couldn’t change a tire to save their lives, couldn’t fix a leaky pipe, couldn’t prime a carburetor or build a shed from scratch.
So, our initial, less-than-stellar impressions of one another were both correct. I figured he’d prove himself to me in time, and I’d do the same to him. That process was called gettin’ past your preconceived notions and bein’ proved wrong. I’d done that on a regular basis most of my life.
Terry had gotten to the ladder and climbed it with gusto. A few seconds later, he reached the top and stepped onto the dock.
He just stood there starin’ at me, like he expected I’d have a big pre-heated beach towel to wrap him in.
“You don’t have to worry about the headphones or the player anymore,” he spat, pulling the waterlogged device from his pocket and tossin’ it in the water.
I guess the headphones got lost when he fell in.
“I never worried about them, Terry,” I said. “I worried about you. You needed a quick lesson in survival, and that’s what you got. Now, get inside and change into some dry clothes.”
“I’m not going anywhere near that boat until you get that … that thing out of there!”
I curled my index finger toward me two or three times. “Then come here and give me a hand, buddy. You’re the reason he got on the goddamned boat in the first place.”
I didn’t need to fill him in on my zombie assist.
He looked at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“He spotted you, man. He was on his way to eat you for breakfast, and when I saw you takin’ in the mornin’ rays and listenin’ to whatever you were listenin’ to, I decided to keep ya from dyin’.”
Terry, lookin’ like a drowned rat, nodded, pressin’ his lips together. “Thanks, CB,” he said. “Now I kinda feel stupid.”
“Better’n feelin’ dead.”
He nodded. “Way better. I’ll help you with him. Like you said, he’s my fault.”
I nodded. He said, “Will you get up by his head, though?”
“Hell yeah, I will.”
We slipped past Danny who’d made his way to us by that point. “You get things sorted out?” he asked.
I patted him on the shoulder and turned. Our winks were simultaneous. By the
time Terry looked at me again, my smile had vacated my face.
“Okay, on three.”
We bent down and lifted the dead rotter up, swingin’ him over the side. He landed in the water with a splash.
“Feel like goin’ to the store? They might have another music player.”
Terry held up his hands, palms out. “I’m swearing off Madonna until this thing is over.”
Ω
“Okay, you owe $762.94. You wanna put that on a card?” asked Danny, putting the nozzle back in the pump.
“Put it on my tab. How the girls comin’?”
“No screamin’ from in there. Place must be stocked, though. They been in there for twenty, twenty-five minutes.”
I quickened my step. “Come on, man.”
Danny turned and fell in beside me. “Wish like hell I coulda seen that kid’s face,” he said, squeezin’ my shoulder with a laugh and a shake of his head.
We got to the small bait, convenience and marine supply shop and I pulled the door open.
“Hey,” said Georgina. Her voice was muffled, and I noticed everyone had novelty tee shirts tied over their mouths and noses.
I didn’t have to ask why. The live shrimp had all died and gone to rot. Danny’d gotten the generator runnin’ to power the fuel pump, but it couldn’t save all the frozen bait in the now open chest freezers.
It was eye-waterin’.
“Shirts!” I called out.
Georgie pointed. “Over there!” came her muffled voice. There were several plastic bags sitting on the checkout counter, all filled with supplies.
“There’s tons of cookies and chips!” said Liam, his eyes excited as they peeked out from over his tee shirt mask.
“That’s because fishermen have a long-standin’ and well-known reputation for lovin’ junk food ‘n beer.”
“Yeah, there’s lots of beer, too.”
“How’s Terry?” asked Roxy.
“Funny you should ask.. He’s fine and still on the boat,” I said.
