Wicked

by John M. Davis

  He thought of Pam.

  Chapter 14

  It no longer hurt.

  All of the pain: his headache, the hunger deep inside of his belly, the loss of everyone he'd known – it was gone. When Derick's eyes began to flicker open, he could see the world in a much different way. The fish was still in its bowl, but its blue scales now radiated with magnificence. He turned back to the window and saw the raven staring back. Now he understood. Gone was the threat of disease and born was the sense of true freedom. Of life – unhindered by human hands.

  His own hands felt years younger and as he looked down at them, Doctor Gellar smiled and nodded with approval.

  “Good.”

  Derick looked at the doctor and mere sight of his pupils was proof enough that the injection had taken its hold.

  “I'm going to speak quietly, Derick,” he began. “As I said before, your senses are now very much heightened. Loud noise would bring you out of your current state of bliss. Remember my voice, Derick, and let it be your beacon of reasoning from this moment forward.”

  Derick nodded. He didn't why and part of him wanted to hate the doctor for turning him into some animal to be tested on, but Derick could no longer find the emotion of hate. Or any emotion, for that matter.

  “The others will follow you now. Should you find another lurker like yourself, there might confrontation,” Doctor Gellar whispered. “But you will help us to rid our world of these wicked things, Derick.”

  Derick nodded.

  “Now that I have your full attention. Are there any more of you?”

  Suddenly he remembered Pam. This emotionless creature that had been forced into servitude by the fine doctor had found his way out rather quickly. The thought of protecting Pam became everything to him at that very moment, and with a tear trickling onto his right cheek, the doctor realized his mistake.

  “Alan!” Doctor Gellar shouted with desperation.

  It was too late. Derick's newfound strength easily broke through the bonds that held him to the chair. He lunged at the fine doctor and in a single motion, ripped both vocal chords and vital flesh from the man's throat – killing him instantly.

  Derick could hear the shuffling of feet pounding their way up the steps and he waited, just like a well-seasoned cat waited for mice. His eyes eerily the same as the purring predator. As they entered, Derick made short work of each of them. They were merely three more dead carcasses to be heaped onto the floor beneath the poster of one highly-overrated basketball player from a time that was.

  Derick walked down the steps of the house and somehow he knew that the house was now empty. He couldn't explain it, nor could he hope to. But his senses had allowed the truth to be felt long before it was discovered with his eyes and ears.

  Derick had entered that house a prisoner with his hands bound and his fate sealed. But he left something far more dangerous – a monster with an agenda. He would have his Pam, no matter the cost. He would sacrifice as many souls to God above as was required. There was no more guilt – not now.

  Only blood-soaked revenge.

  -

  When Gordon woke up from his on-again, off-again nap (or as he called it, “watch”), he nearly shit his pants like a Stephanie Meyer fan trapped in a room full of literary scholars. There were coming.

  “Sweet mother of Jesus!” he jumped to his feet and began banging the bottoms of his boots onto the stair – making his way up the patio.

  It had been plenty enough to wake Carlos and Pam, and give them a window of opportunity to look anything but sexual.

  “We got a fucking problem!”

  “What is it?” Carlos asked.

  Pam was concerned, too, but did her best to straighten her white tee shirt up.

  “There is a horde coming, man!”

  “How many? What about the iron gate?” Carlos asked.

  “I'm not sure, but I think they ran that mother fucker down. At least two hundred.”

  “Two hundred!” Pam yelled.

  Now the direness of the situation sank itself into her pretty little head and it showed.

  “We can't defend against that.” Carlos said.

  Well no shit. Gordon thought. What's next, mother fucker? Are you gonna tell me that water's wet? Broccoli sprouts taste like shit?

  “We need to get to the back yard.” Carlos added.

  “Then what?” Gordon asked.

  “We've got to swim for it, that's our only choice.”

  “I can't fucking swim!” the big man pleaded.

  “Then you had better learn fast.” Carlos replied. He took the butt of his shotgun and smashed the glass that surrounded the patio. By this point, they could hear the wicked pounding away at the front door downstairs. It was only a matter of time.

  After striking the glass four times, it finally shattered.

  “Be careful on the broken glass, Carlos said. “We're gonna have to drop down and make a run for the water. Gordon, you can go first since you'll be the slowest swimmer.”

  Gordon didn't like the idea of dropping ten feet down, either. But he'd land on grass and hoped that it would take the brunt of it. He jumped and hit the ground just as hard as he'd thought he would. Standing up to his feet slowly, Derick was on him. Tearing into flesh with his teeth while scraping and gouging at will.

  Carlos was right behind him and didn't wait to ask Derick why. Aggression would be met with aggression. Prison had taught him that. He'd lost his shotgun on the way down and even if he'd somehow managed to find it, Derick was far too close to be shot. Carlos watched Gordon fall to his death. Derick had ripped the big man's throat out with his teeth.

  “Derick!” Pam shouted.

  She no longer feared the tumble from the upper-level of the house or even the swim in front of them. Pam watched Carlos do his very best to stay in the fight. Derick's senses had been heightened and it showed. He was now much faster than they'd ever seen him before, and certainly stronger. That said, Carlos had always been the alpha male of the group. They'd all known it since day one. He landed several flush shots on Derick, but it quickly became apparent that Derick was superior. He used his fingernails to dig flesh from Carlos' midsection and in the process, the former convict finally fell to the ground. Worse, even, was the fact that several dead had now started to make their way to the back. Closing the gap with each staggering step.

  “Derick! Please!” Pam cried. “I need your help.”

  He stopped – even the monster side of him.

  “I need Carlos in order to stay alive. Derick, I want to live.”

  The doctor had promised him that any emotional attachment would be gone. The doctor had lied. For several moments, Derick looked at the woman that he'd loved for so long now. Way before the wicked took their place in this world as the superior race. Long before they'd started seeing each other back at the restaurant. Derick thought of the very first time he'd laid eyes on Pam. Back in the fourth grade. She'd fallen on the playground and skinned her knee, and Derick remembered helping her walk over to Mrs. Ellis. From that very moment forward, he'd always loved her. He didn't always know it and he certainly didn't always show it. But this monster now stood in front of Pam with tears streaming from his cheeks.

  And then his eyes – his cursed raven eyes – flickered themselves to the horde that had gotten within ten feet of the group. Derick pulled the set of car keys from his pocket and pointed to the far right. He nodded and held them out for Pam.

  Perhaps it was an effect of the injection, though he'd known another lurker who spoke at will. But Derick found it impossible to speak. He wanted to – God knew he wanted to – but for whatever reason, he was unable to utter the words I love you. Instead, he would have to show Pam his feelings.

  He needed to protect her.

  Tossing the keys at Pam's feet, Derick once again pointed out the direction of the Hummer. They'd find out without him. It would take time, but Derick had confidence in Carlos' ability to adapt. The keys and general direction would be en
ough.

  Thank you. Pam said.

  Derick nodded and did what any man in love would do, even against the insurmountable odds of defeat. He ran into the horde of approaching undead and brought the fury of hell with him.

  Derick would fall that day, but he would take dozens of wicked with him. Providing enough distraction for his two friends to slip away. Pam would be safe because of him, and that was the measure of true love.

  As Derick laying there, his dying breath would be focused on his love for Pam and his newfound fascination for the birds above. Many of them ravens, which he thought was odd, and all of them staring at him with the intensity of one true God.

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 15

  Carlos would drive and he took his sweet time getting into the SUV.

  He clenched with pain as he pulled himself up. Derick had shredded the skin on his midsection, but that would heal with time. He found irony in the fact that Derick had hurt him, much like the kid must have hurt when letting Pam go. Carlos would gladly accept the pain in order to be with the woman he loved.

  “You OK?” Carlos asked.

  Pam continued to cry as she locked the passenger side door. She offered nothing in reply. There would be plenty of time for them to become close, but today was Derick's day. Along with all of the others they had lost.

  She wasn't concerned with the stockpile of supplies in the rear of the Hummer or its near-full tank of gas. Carlos was. His mind was tailored for the art of survival, and that's why Derick had spared his life. Even from the grave, and through the acts of another, Derick would protect the woman he loved.

  Carlos didn't press the issue. Instead, he turned the key and the SUV's engine rumbled to life. They would waste no time in leaving the area and going in search of something more. There had to be others out there trying to survive. People they could trust.

  Maybe.

  For now, they were both just happy to be alive. Carlos and Pam headed north. They understood that in the end, it didn't matter. Fate had a way of showing up at just the right time.

  Author's Note

  This story took me the better part of six months to write if you factor in all of the editing and rewriting involved. I only had a couple of things in mind when I started writing Wicked. First, I knew that I wanted to write a story about zombies. For me, there's just something really cool about the concept of the world as we know it - ending. How would people learn to adapt and survive? Second, I knew that I wanted my zombie story to be different. Let's face it, there are a lot of zombie survival stories out there.

  I sat down with a core group of characters in mind and no outline. I didn't tell this story – it told itself to me. A few chapters into this novel, I started to realize that everyone would handle the end of our world differently. Some folks would shut down every emotion they had and go into survival mode, whereas others would panic and quickly become followers to stronger survivors. And, in Derick's case, he needed a reason to continue on. I'm sure that there will be plenty of readers who hate him for it. In fact, for most of the book, I hated him for it. Then I started to understand his mindset. You have to protect the ones you love at all costs, even if they don't love you back.

  Will I ever write about zombies again? That's not for me to say. As a full-time author, I've made a habit out of letting readers decide what they want next. Though, if you enjoyed the story, I invite you to check out the rest of my work. Thank you to my wife Cassey, who continues to support me in more ways than she'll ever know, and to Daniél Lecoq, who did enough rounds of editing on this thing to make us all proud.

  John M. Davis

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