All Together Now: A Zombie Story

by Robert Kent

  Even so, I could've stopped him. Michelle could've stopped him. Instead, we watched as Levi coated the side of the church in flammable liquid so it was dripping and then struck a match.

  With a woosh the entire side of the church erupted in fire, spreading at once to the roof. I didn't know how long it would take to burn the entire building, but with no fire department to call and no one to put it out but me, Michelle, and Levi, I knew it would burn to cinders.

  Dead hands smacked against the double glass doors of the church's entrance. I saw Levi had placed the van's tire iron between the metal loops that served as door handles.

  Several zombies had spilled out of the sanctuary into the foyer. Among them were Ruth and Peter Davis, who pushed against the doors to get out.

  The tire iron held.

  Levi laughed hysterically. He walked around to the front of the church and screamed at the zombies inside.

  "We should go," Michelle said, gripping my arm.

  I shook my head and shrugged her off. "Levi, there's a cure!" I shouted.

  Levi turned back to me and there was a fire burning in his eyes hotter than the one inside the church. "What?"

  "Your parents!" I yelled. "They can be cured!"

  Levi laughed louder and more hysterically than before. "There's no cure for them! No cure for what they got!"

  Levi charged the church and for one terrible moment I was sure he was going to remove the tire iron and let the zombies out. Instead he glared through the glass and shouted like a lunatic.

  "They want to tell you how to think, how to feel, how to be. What to hold in your heart! Want to tell you what to do and how to do it! There ain't no cure for that! Let 'em burn!"

  Levi kept making noise, but after that, he spoke no discernible words.

  "Ricky!" Michelle yelled. "Let's go!"

  Maybe I should've left then, but I took out our gun and aimed it through the doors, not at Levi's parents, but at a taller zombie behind them. The only zombie not wearing a purple T-shirt because he was dressed in a purple suit.

  I fired.

  A perfectly round hole appeared in the glass of the left door, just in front of the face of the reverend Brian Hopstead.

  He stared stupidly a moment, then collapsed.

  Levi shouted triumphantly, but I only turned and walked back to Michelle. She held out her hand for the gun and I gave it to her.

  "Can we please go now?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  We had to walk around Chuck, who'd stumbled into the church's parking lot all by himself. I walked slowly for a while to make sure he followed. He handled the gravel of the lot and then the road like an old pro.

  Eventually, Levi caught up to us. He didn't say anything, so neither did we. The four of us walked on toward Harrington, toward Kirkman Soda. But first, as you know, we'd make a brief stop at Ernie's.

  Every so often I glanced back. For hours and from a long distance away, I could still see the black smoke rising from New Life Christian Church.

  77

  THAT PRETTY WELL CATCHES US up to the present. I maybe left a few things out, but I've told you my story as best I can. It's not a happy story, I know, but I never promised it would be.

  It's good that the story's done, because I'm about to do something extremely stupid, in all probability making this the last chapter.

  The storm raged all night and I wrote all the way through it, but the storm's done now, and so is this journal.

  Michelle's been peeking out the window from Ernie's office into the food mart all the time we've been down here. We've gone from four zombies stumbling inside to nine, but now we're down to two.

  I know she's planning to make a run for it soon, but I'm not going to let her.

  Eventually, we'll both have to run or we'll starve here, but there's way too many zombies stumbling around outside for that now.

  Their steady chorus of moans hasn't diminished any and I know they've got Ernie's surrounded. If we tried to run for it, even if we caught the dead off guard, they'd bring us down before we got more than a few steps past the front or rear exit.

  But there are only two zombies inside and if I move fast enough I can fill my pack with food before they chase me out.

  There's also plenty of lighter fluid and I've thought about grabbing that, too. I could pour it on the horde from the roof and set them ablaze and they'd burn as surely as the dead Christians from New Life burned.

  The problem is they'd keep walking until the fire reached their brains and there's no way to stop them wandering back inside Ernie's.

  The only thing worse than being trapped in Ernie's surrounded by the dead would be being trapped in Ernie's surrounded by the dead as it burned down.

  Also, I have no idea how to kill all the zombies except Chuck.

  I don't know how we're going to get out of here, but we're down to our last bag of trail mix. We still have three strips of jerky, two cans of tuna, and half a bag of crackers.

  If I could sit here and think of more to write instead of making this run, believe me I would. If this is the last chapter, I just want to say...

  I don't know that I have any last words.

  How about this: wherever you are, if you have family or friends, love them. If you've got food, enjoy it. If you're alive, live.

  No more stalling.

  78

  STILL ALIVE. PROBABLY NOT FOR long, but I'm here to write this chapter and maybe one or two more.

  This is what happened:

  Michelle was opening the door to Ernie's office when I put my hand over hers. "I'll do it."

  She looked at me a long moment, but one of us had to move because the zombie nearest the door had seen us and was snarling. Soon they'd all be snarling.

  Michelle stepped aside and raised our gun, signaling she'd cover me.

  I handed Michelle this journal. "Keep it safe," I said.

  Then I unzipped my backpack and flung the office door open. My plan was to run between the aisles stuffing it with food as fast as I could, like a kid who'd won a contest in a toy store.

  But first I had to deal with the snarling zombie. I swung my bat and struck him in the face.

  He fell back, still growling and reaching for me. I had to hit him twice more before he stopped.

  Michelle's gun exploded behind me.

  I turned and found myself face to face with a dead man a foot taller than me. A large chunk of the top of his head had been blown off.

  Black blood ran past his eyebrows. He blinked and toppled over.

  I made brief eye contact with Michelle to thank her without slowing.

  The tall zombie must've been too close to the office for me to see him before I ran into the mart and if it hadn't been for Michelle, he would've bitten me.

  Michelle shot the other zombie two aisles over, and why not? What difference did a second gunshot make?

  The frenzied dead started pouring into Ernie's.

  I grabbed anything that looked like food and put it in my backpack.

  "Ricky! Ricky, come on! Ricky!"

  I knew I was in trouble from the panic in Michelle's voice and I had a fleeting thought of the woman who'd screamed for Tommy days ago. The woman who hadn't screamed or made any other sounds since.

  The snarling was so loud it sounded like a thunderstorm.

  Dead people stumbled toward me from every direction, and behind them more dead stumbled, and behind them more dead climbed in the broken windows of the mart, and behind them were more dead, and more dead behind them, and on and on as far as I could see.

  I ran for the office, zipping up the backpack that wasn't even halfway full. Michelle had already climbed back to the roof.

  I heard the dead entering the office behind me as I reached the first rung of the ladder leading to the hatch.

  I climbed fast, holding each rung so briefly in my hurry to reach the next that when a dead hand grabbed the backpack, jerking me to a halt, I almost fell off the ladder.

  The d
ead are slow, but strong, and whichever zombie had grabbed the backpack held it firm.

  The snarls grew louder as more dead crowded into Ernie's office, surrounding me.

  I pushed myself up with my arms and legs with all my strength, needing to reach the next rung and not about to lose the backpack I'd risked my life for.

  Hands clutched my shoulders and I was sure a zombie had me until I saw it was Michelle reaching through the hatch to pull me up.

  I barely heard the backpack rip over the chorus of snarls, but I felt its contents spilling out. There was nothing I could do without taking my hands off the rungs.

  I shrugged the backpack's shoulder strap off and let the dead pull the pack from me as I climbed the rest of the way to the roof.

  Michelle stayed looking through the hatch at the dead reaching up to her, all the food from my pack scattered at their feet.

  I screamed as loud as I could and kept screaming.

  I ran to the edge of the roof and screamed at the dead. There were plenty, fighting to get inside Ernie's. When they saw me, they stopped reaching out and started reaching up.

  "I hate you!" I screamed. "I hate you, I hate, I hate, I hate you!"

  I ran my fingers through my hair and stomped to the other side of the roof to scream some more.

  I knew Michelle was staring at me. I didn't care.

  I knew my screams might draw new zombies and were certainly riling up the ones here already. I didn't care.

  "You win! All right? You win!"

  I shouted long strings of profanity until my eyes fell on Chuck.

  He was the one zombie not trying to get into Ernie's because he couldn't. The loop of cable trailing out the back of his catchpole was caught around a cement pole beside one of the pumps.

  It was an easy fix. All Chuck had to do was either lift the loop over the pole or lift the other loop off his neck, but he no longer possessed the cognitive capacity to know how to do either. He was like a dog chained in a yard.

  My little brother was going to be standing there stupidly waiting to starve long after his older brother starved to death on the roof and despite everything, despite Dad, we'd both be dead.

  I stopped screaming and wept until I collapsed to the roof and Michelle put her arms around me.

  79

  I KNOW HOW TO GET off the roof. Also, I think I'm in love.

  Too bad I'm going to die.

  It will be a good death. A hero's death, like Dad's.

  Most the world is dead, but how many of those people got to die on their own terms? Most died screaming and thinking this isn't happening.

  I don't remember my birth, of course. But I'll be present for my exit from the world. And I won't be panicked.

  I didn't say I won't be scared. In fact, I ought to stop writing this. It isn't helping.

  What scares me isn't the pain. It will hurt and I know it, but the killing won't last forever and then I'll be dead and the pain will be forgotten along with everything I ever was or knew.

  The world will keep on going, just no me. It won't remember I'm gone and I won't either.

  My one fear is that I'll drop the gun. As the dead tear my flesh from my body, I might forget to put the gun to my head and pull the trigger. Or I might not be able to.

  My plan formed when I noticed the open driver's side door on a silver Ford parked in front of the church across the street. It isn't in a proper parking spot and the door is flung wide like somebody left the car in a hurry.

  Dangling behind the steering wheel is an oval of white. At first I didn't know what it was as it's a block away and hard to make out, but then it came to me: it's a rabbit's foot.

  Like the sort people put on their key chains. I don't know if the rabbit's foot brought the driver luck (he's probably stumbling around below), but it's lucky for us.

  "How do we know it has gas?" Michelle asked when I pointed out the Ford to her.

  "We don't."

  "What if the car was left running, and after a couple days idling, it's shut down?"

  "Then we'll be screwed," I admitted. "Which will be no different than our current situation except we could maybe run for it."

  "How are we even going to get down there to it?"

  "We won't," I said. "But you will. And if you take Chuck, you can put him in the trunk."

  Michelle's eyes grew wide. "Why? Where will you be?"

  "We're going to start at the back of the roof," I said. "We'll shoot as many in the head as we can. The shots will draw more and we'll keep shooting until we're low on ammo.

  "Then you'll have to jump down to the front of the store. Chuck's trapped there, so you should be able to undo his catchpole and drag him behind you.

  "You run straight for the Ford. Shoot any dead that get close and put Chuck in the trunk if you can. Then drive straight to your Dad's plant."

  "Where will you be?" Michelle asked, but I could see in her expression she already knew.

  I couldn't look her in the eye, so I turned away. "I'm going to jump down the back before you jump down the front and I'm going to run as far as I can."

  "You'll never make it!"

  "I'll get as far as I can. While they're distracted, you get my brother to safety."

  Michelle stared at me.

  "There's no other way. We're out of food. Either we both die up here, or one of us gets to Kirkman's and cures Chuck."

  "You're serious?" Michelle said.

  I nodded, and she saw I was.

  Michelle put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me.

  I broke away. Then I kissed her back.

  It was more than a kiss, more than wet lips bumping against each other. Something passed from me to her and from her to me.

  My arms wrapped around her and hers wrapped around me and we didn't need words.

  Figures. The greatest night of my life will be my last.

  Michelle's asleep as I write this and it will be morning soon. Last night Michelle told me we'd find another way, but there is no other way.

  In a moment, I'm going to put this journal in Michelle's pack so she can carry it to safety. Then I'm going to walk to the rear of the roof and start shooting before I lose my nerve.

  There's nothing left to write, no story left to tell.

  I've got nothing left to say except this: I love you Michelle Elizabeth Kirkman.

  Despite everything that's happened, I'm so glad we had this chance to find each other. I hope you get to Kirkman's and there's a cure for Chuck. I hope the two of you live there together in safety and you have long, happy lives and you think of me every once in a while.

  I love you.

  That's the best ending this journal could have. It's the best ending I could have.

  Goodbye.

  80

  I'M NOT WRITING THIS FROM the roof. Ernie's is miles away from where we are now.

  I would've sacrificed myself for Michelle. For Chuck. For Dad. For Ben. I would die in place of any of them if I ever got the chance.

  This is what happened:

  I lay beside Michelle, watching her sleep. I brushed my fingertips across her cheek, not to wake her, but because I felt a physical need to touch her.

  I guess it's sort of weird that my most romantic memory took place on the roof of a gas station surrounded by the craven moans and putrid stench of the dead, but we don't always get to pick where romance happens.

  Michelle sleeping in the moonlight was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

  I'd give anything to still be lying there beside her, my hand around her waist, her body warming me and allowing me to forget my hunger and exhaustion, to feel whole and connected to all that was still right in the world.

  All I had to do was lean forward and kiss her. She'd wake and I could thrust my fingers in her kinky hair and pull her close and our lips would lock and there would be no her or me, only us.

  But I didn't want to wake her.

  I'd never do what I had to do if she was awake. My plan was to let my
first few gunshots wake her and when enough dead had gathered at the rear of Ernie's, I'd leap off the roof before Michelle could stop me.

  I would've done it. Believe me.

  I sat up, bowed my head, and closed my eyes.

  Grandma Lacey always said prayer was the last refuge of the damned.

  She also said there were no atheists in foxholes.

  "Dear God," I prayed, keeping my voice to a whisper so as not to wake Michelle.

  "You suck. If You're real, I hate You and after what happened to Chuck, I'd say You hate me back. But I'm not dead. Everyone else is, but not me. I'm still here, Lord, and if You're up there, I'm guessing You had something to do with it.

  "Or maybe You've been meaning to kill me and You've just been so busy killing everyone else You haven't found time yet. If we wait a few minutes, we can have the rest of this conversation in person.

  "Don't kill me, God. Don't let me die. We've fought so hard and been through so much. If You're up there, if You were ever up there, give me a sign. Show me You care at all.

  "You killed Chuck. And Dad. And Ben. And now me. You—"

  A series of crashing noises of metal impacting cement clanged from the left.

  I stood up and at first saw nothing. Then I spotted two circles of light reflected off the cement divider beside the highway's exit as though a stage technician were aiming spotlights.

  Not spotlights. Headlights.

  A blue minivan rolled the wrong way up the exit at only a little over 35 mph and crashed into the divider, smashing the minivan's hood. Its horn sounded in a continuous wail as though something were smashing it down—the driver's head, most likely.

  Michelle sat up. "What's going on?"

  I pointed and below my outstretched hand I saw an amazing thing: the zombies below us were turning in unison toward the van.

  As I watched, the zombies stumbled toward the highway, snarling. In front of Ernie's, Chuck reached toward the minivan, but the catchpole held him.

  The minivan's back door opened and a woman tumbled out, a small child on top of her, her teeth buried in the woman's chest. I didn't need to hear the girl to know she was dead.