Wicked

by John M. Davis

  “Are you fucking crazy?” A.K. asked. “I don't know how long you were in the slam, but Charlotte's population before all of this was close to 800,000! That place will be a literal bloodbath – crawling with the dead.”

  “Maybe,” Carlos said. “But it's also bound to have places we can hole up long-term. What are we supposed to do when it starts getting cold? What about the snow? Lamar's right – we're not set up for long-term survival. You said you were a cop on the streets before working at the prison. If we put our heads together, I think we can make it.”

  “Maybe the military was able to take the city.” Lisa suggested.

  “The same military that shot my partner?” A.K. asked. “No thank you, ma'am. I'll take my chances with a few starving dead here and there. And I do know the streets. They were bad enough before the zombies showed up.”

  “We vote it – that's the only fair way.” Derick said.

  “I say we go and at least have a look around. I know about this kind of stuff and I'm telling you, we need to think about the long-term.” Lamar said.

  “I second that.” Lisa said. Shooting her hand into the air.

  “Same.” Carlos added.

  “Not going.” A.K. insisted.

  “I'm with him on this,” Murphy bitched. “I can live a lot longer out here in the woods than y'all give me credit for. I'm not a hunter but I can fish with the best of 'em. To hell with the city and whatever is down there.”

  “I say we wait, at least until we know things have calmed down.” Pam said.

  Derick turned to look at her. Not expecting her vote with them in the least.

  “Sorry,” she added. “I know the long-term is important, but this only the second day. We need to figure out everything we can first.”

  “Well, what's your vote?” Murphy asked.

  Derick stood there – at odds with himself.

  Suddenly, a loud gunshot fired off in the distance. And then another.

  The entire group turned into the direction of the gunfire. Either someone was in trouble or one of the mindless stiffs had managed to wield a gun.

  “Could be the military.” Lisa said in a whisper.

  “Or it could be someone that needs our help.” Derick added.

  “We go together this time.” Carlos said.

  The look he got from A.K. let him know all he needed to. Eventually, one of them would likely have to kill the other. There was no escaping it. The trained police officer turned prison guard vs. the man wronged by justice – trained by the criminal element behind bars.

  But their time would have to wait... for now.

  ** **

  The man was certainly military. His clothes had the look, as did the pistol, which fired another shot as the group got close enough to watch.

  Three of the dead struts closed in on the man and he fired off an array of shots that sent two of them to hell. Then his pistol went click. He was out of ammunition and out of miracles. Having cheated death for nearly two days straight. Falling against a tree, the man looked more aggravated than afraid.

  “Well come on, you slimy-toothed bastard!”

  The zombie would do just that. It seemed to grin a bit, though its eyes were glazed with a white sappy substance. Either way, it would have its feast of tendons and bone or find its own skull smashed in for the trouble.

  A single shot plunked into its forehead, spreading brain fragments for several feet. Alerting the stray man in the process.

  “Don't shoot!” he cried out.

  The man vaulted his arms in the air and went out of his way to look defenseless. As the group approached him slowly, he first noticed Pam. Her gun hand shook like a frail leaf in the wind and he'd no desire to be shot.

  “Whoa now.” he pleaded.

  “Don't move.” Pam said.

  “Don't plan to,” he replied. “But that hand of yours is shaking something fierce. I once saw a guy shoot himself in the thigh.”

  “Got a name?” Carlos asked.

  “Yea,” he replied. “You?”

  “He's definitely military... but he ain't that funny.” Murphy said.

  “That usually gets at least one laugh... tough crowd,” the man admitted. “Name's Jonathan Kirk, Lieutenant Colonel United States Navy. Call sign Rudy.”

  “Rudy?” Derick asked.

  “Graduated from Notre Dame and played football. I'm sure you see the connection.” Rudy said.

  “Love my gridiron.” Derick smiled.

  “No – real football. I guess you call it soccer.”

  “Look, Rudy,” A.K. began. “It's not that we don't enjoy talking about sports, but right now we're more interested in who you are and how you found your way out into these woods? There isn't a military base around here for quite a stretch.”

  “Same as you, I suppose,” Rudy said. “I was with a formation of birds running a fire mission near Charlotte.”

  “And the zombies shot you down?” Lamar asked. Very suspicious of the man and the story he was giving them.

  “No,” Rudy replied. “I was in an F-35 Lighting and while they may be flashy on the outside, they aren't exactly known for being dependable. Damn thing started going down and I had to eject. I cut my teeth on an F-14 Tomcat back in the day. If only I'd been in a Tomcat. Not once did they give me any problems.”

  The group continued to look at him suspiciously.

  “Look, I can take you to the spot where my chair and parachute are still sitting. It was either die in a fiery crash or eject and take my chances down here.”

  “We need to know what in the hell is going on. We still haven't heard much of anything and you're the first person we've seen.” Carlos finally said. Cutting the pilot's memories of real flying glory short.

  “It's what it looks like,” Rudy admitted. “I didn't believe it at first either – no one did. But the dead are tearing this world inside out. Some sort of virus that originated in the Philippines. They didn't brief us on what it was exactly. They still don't know, would be my guess. By the time it began spreading, containment was our only option. We began firebombing heavily infected areas. But the dead kept coming – they overwhelmed us. The guys back in my unit were calling them wicked. I dunno why, but it sounds a lot better than zombies.”

  “And the military?” Lisa asked.

  “It's still out there, somewhere. Last official word I heard was that our president and several other world leaders were moved to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. A convoy of battleships or some shit like that. The whole world's getting its ass kicked. The living are out there, but most are hole up waiting on help that ain't gonna be arriving. What military is still on the mainland seems to be fortifying what it can. Namely ammunition depots and airports.”

  “And you?” Carlos asked. “What were you planning to do?”

  “Had an alpha on me for the past few days but lost him in the woods. Hadn't really had time to think about it. Son of a bitch-”

  “Alpha?” Derick asked.

  “Thinker... how little do you folks know?”

  “We were in a roadside diner together. We don't know much.”

  “I know the U.S. Army zoomed past and gunned my partner down as he flagged them for help.” A.K. said angrily.

  “Yea,” Rudy replied. “Sorry about your friend, but all of our service branches are under the same orders. Survivors hold something white in the air and approach slowly, otherwise, they're treated just like the wicked. We don't have many soldiers left and brass isn't taking any chances. As for the alphas,” Rudy began to look shaken. “Damn things can think. I mean really think. Some of our people believe that maybe they're half-turned, or something to that effect. Dead enough to start gut-munching but alive enough to reason. I had one of them hunting me down, otherwise, I wouldn't believe it.”

  “You ever read anything like that?” Derick asked.

  “Na,” Lamar admitted. “They're supposed to be slow and stupid. I mean I've seen a few movies were they're fast.”

  �
�Most of them are slow and stupid, but the alphas can move fast,” Rudy said. “You study zombies?”

  “Comic books.”

  “Oh.” Rudy replied.

  “I know what you're thinking,” Derick said. “An oxygen delivery driver, bank manager, electronics guy, prison guard, inmate, waitress and Vietnam veteran. What do we know about surviving, right?”

  “No, I was actually going to ask Lamar if he was familiar with V for Vendetta. Also wondering where the military gear came from?”

  “Damn straight,” Lamar said with a grin. “They butchered that movie. We picked the rifles up from a military checkpoint nearby that was overrun.”

  “We're trying to decide on a trip to Charlotte,” Pam said. “We need things for long-term survival, but the city is likely crawling.”

  “It is,” Rudy replied. “I passed over it through the air. It's a war zone, at least it was. You're right about trying to find supplies, though. Get 'em before they're gone. I promise you, this isn't going to be over for a very long time. We got word of a civilian resistance forming near the downtown area, right around the Carowinds theme park. I don't know how many or how well organized they are, but enough so that we were told not to strike that area of the city. So they must be holding their own.”

  Carlos looked a bit frustrated. Placing the side of his pistol against his forehead for a moment in deep thought. His son could still be out there somewhere.

  “If I may,” Rudy said. “You might consider getting close and sending just a handful of people into Charlotte. That way you don't risk the entire group. There's plenty of cover in the hills surrounding the city.”

  “And the dead?” A.K. asked.

  “Plenty of those, too. But it's worth the risk. If we can get into the city in one piece, we may find pockets of military help and certainly plenty of supplies.”

  “Want to help us?” Derick asked.

  He pulled a clip from his pocket, offering it to the downed pilot.

  “No kidding?” Rudy asked.

  “We've got extra 9mm ammunition and we need the help. Right now you know more about what's going on than any of us.”

  Rudy took the clip, quickly realizing that it wouldn't fit his model pistol. Instead, he began plucking each round out by hand and reloading his own 9mm clip.

  “OK. Deal.” Rudy replied.

  “Derick calls most of the shots but we've been taking a vote on the big things.” Carlos said. Setting the ground rules early.

  “I can live with that.” Rudy replied.

  “Any family?” Pam asked.

  “Yea,” Rudy “Back in Michigan, but I try not to think about it. That's what they train us to do. But I like to believe they're OK up there.”

  “A few hours away from Charlotte, and that's driving. We better get walking so we can get this damn death march over with.” A.K. said.

  Hoisting his rifle's strap across his shoulder, the prison guard had no intentions of spending another night walking aimlessly through the woods.

  “So, soccer?” Pam asked.

  The group began walking. That didn't stop Rudy from smiling wide.

  “We call it football. Quarterbacks and tailbacks my ass, I'd like to see Tom Brady pull off a game winning bicycle kick.”

  ** **

  They'd all walked for several hours. Finally at their breaking point. All of them were tired but waited for someone else to give in.

  “I can't.” Lisa said.

  “We need to keep-” A.K. began.

  “I said I can't!” she yelled. Finally sitting right where her feet had been planted only moments before. “This whole thing is wrong. I'm supposed to be at a conference right now, eating bagels and meeting some incredibly important people in the banking industry. Instead, I'm out here marching in in the hills of North Carolina and trying to avoid... wicked. It can't be like this – it just can't.”

  Derick was the first to sit beside her as tears started to flow. Among the entire group, even those who preferred a good comic book, it was obvious that Lisa was the least suited for the type of survival that was to come. Lamar supposed that every survival story had at least one person who couldn't handle the framework. For whatever reason (her need and his ability, perhaps), Derick found himself drawn to Lisa. Especially given the fact that any sort of love with Pam was very unlikely to materialize. He'd come to terms with that.

  “Listen,” Derick said. Doing what he could to comfort her. “I know it's tough. I still can't completely wrap my head around it, either, but we need to find a way to keep going. Beneath all of this – the banking background and the pretty face, I believe there's a brave woman. I know you can do this. We all can. We just need to keep going.”

  Lisa slid her hand into his. She'd taken to him, too. There was something about him – some silent chivalry that she couldn't explain. In a society under normal circumstances, Lisa wouldn't have looked at him twice. Now, with wicked trying to the last remains of a civilized world, she'd placed her hand in his – also placing her life in his promises. She never actually spoke the words – she didn't have to. As their eyes locked, Derick understood.

  “You better wrap your head around it,” Murphy said. Readying a steel pipe. “And get to wrapping weapons around skulls! These gnarly-toothed freaks of nature don't care if you have the stones for it or not. They see you and they see lunch. So if you plan on quitting, do it now. We can't coddle you.”

  “Dammit, Murphy!” Derick shouted. “Have a little compassion! And you're the last one to be talking about nasty looking teeth!” He'd not have his moment of romance ruined by some old man and his sharp tongue.

  Just then, four snarling dead converged on them from the trees. They may have been mindless and slow, but they'd done a damn good job of getting to the group of survivors with very little warning.

  Murphy smashed his thick pipe into the skull of an infected. Rendering the dead bastard truly dead. Meanwhile, Carlos used a flurry of kicks, punches and knife strikes to finally put down a second infected. They weren't getting things done as fancy as they could have with their guns, but fancy would have gotten them overrun.

  “Oh shit!” Lamar yelled out.

  A rather large wicked fell on top of him – its pure weight was enough to overpower the much skinnier survivor, not to mention its putrid smell. He used every bit of energy he had, grasping the wrists of the cold-fleshed monster and holding it at bay. Still, it came at him with snapping teeth.

  “Shit!” Lamar shouted once more.

  Finally, Derick was up on his feet and acted on impulse; grabbing the creature in a forced choke with the girth of his arm. It wasn't much – an agitation for the wicked who needed no air to survive. It threw an arm back recklessly, finally grabbing hold of him and slinging Derick several feet away.

  Lamar prepared to be eaten. Squirming around like a pig about to be slaughtered. He'd become the guy in the comic books that goes down like a coward – dammit! He wasn't ready to die! Then, a gunshot cracked off and particles of the big bastard's face and neck splattered across Lamar's chest.

  “What-”

  Pam stood nearby and her arm once again shook without pause. She continued to hold the revolver which had saved Lamar's life.

  “Point it the other way,” he said. Holding his hand up. “Please.”

  What is this, amateur hour?

  The crude revolver rattled like a baby's toy. Pam tried her best to come to terms with the fact that she'd just killed someone. Granted, they were already dead, but she'd never fired a gun in her life. Things could have gone terribly wrong just as quickly.

  Rudy sliced at the fourth and final wicked, taking care of things in a hurry. Leaving a slop pile of blood and guts at his feet.

  “What the fuck was that?” Carlos said, pushing A.K.

  “What are you talking about? And who are you pushing?”

  “He's right... I saw it, too.” Lamar said. He eased himself upright once again. Just glad to be alive.

  “What?” Li
sa asked.

  “A.K. could have easily made the kill to save Lamar's life. He didn't.” Carlos accused. Having had enough of the prison guard's antics.

  “Fuck you,” A.K. said. “Yea, it's true. The weak need to be weeded out. We don't have the supplies for everyone and if you think for one second that I'm going to sit around and stick a thumb in someone else's mouth-” he glanced to Lisa.

  Immediately, a fist struck A.K. across his chin. Knocking him down. Carlos was on him fast, though he quickly realized that A.K. was no normal prison guard. The man was also a very disciplined fighter, having turned the ambush into a level fight quickly. His police training had certainly proven itself valuable.

  “Enough!” Derick said. Firing a shot from his pistol into the air. Quickly, he aimed it at A.K. and stared with convincing fashion. “You're done here.”

  “What?”

  “Lamar could have died because of you.”

  “Lamar should have died,” A.K. argued. “He's weak. Most of us are! The weak are only putting off the inevitable! You, me, the old man and the convict have what it takes to survive. Maybe Pam, but that's it!”

  “Take one bottle of water, one can of food and one weapon. You take 'em, and you get the hell out of here. You're on your own.” Derick said.

  “He ain't on his own,” Murphy said. “The man's got a point. We aren't going to be able to keep picking up the slack of the weak links. The strongest should be the ones to survive and most of you don't even know how to shoot a gun. Sorry to tell you, sweet tits,” he glanced to Lisa. “But if you are already crying, it's just a matter of time.”

  “You heard the man,” Carlos said. Aiming at both of the men with a slanted jaw. “And you either take what's yours and start walking, or I'm going to kneecap both of you and leave you for the wicked.”

  “Fine,” A.K. said. Digging through one of the supply sacks and pulling a large can of kidney beans out. Followed by a bottle of water. “The difference is we'll be survivors this time next week and you'll all be dead.”

  “Fuck it,” Murphy added. Pulling a can of spaghetti and a water out; staring at the group for a very long moment. “I don't plan on being led to my death by an oxygen delivery man and a convict anyway.”