by Evans, Mike
“Oh, no," Chuck said, "no he didn’t. He just ate his damn face, like, literally. What the hell is he thinking?”
Jude answered, “I’m pretty sure anyone who rips off their own head isn’t thinking any longer, Chuck. But just to make sure he isn’t a danger going forward, I’m going to take just a little bit off of the top.” Jude walked forward, revving up the saw.
When Howard finally figured out that there was more meat in front of him than on himself, he sped into a run. Jude kicked him in the privates for a second time, but this time he just stared, not seeming to mind what should have been excruciating pain. Jude took back his foot and brought the chainsaw down halfway on the right and then the left. He intersected the cuts with the second slice and stood back, waiting. The death in Howard’s eyes disappeared as the slice of his brain fell to the ground behind him.
Jude looked behind him, seeing that very soon they were going to be completely cornered. He sliced through Howard's mid-section, and then took off each of his legs. He picked them up, hurling them down the stairs, knocking over those coming up and temporarily blocking their progress. Jude picked up his saw again, running after the dead still coming out of the elevator. Chuck said, “Your call, brother, what the hell are we going to do?”
“The only thing that we can do, man," Jude replied. "You take out their knees, and they won't be able to come after us.”
Charlie said, “What about their skulls? I thought you had to chop their heads off to kill these things?”
“Yeah, that's true. But they aren’t going anywhere if they don’t have knees to walk on. We can come back later and slice through their skulls. We need to make sure these things stay out of that studio.”
Leslie coughed from behind. “Hey, you might have forgotten about this, but you might want to remember that there are, like, ten or twelve floors to this building. So that being the case, these zombies could be on the top floor, the second floor—you name it, God knows what button they hit when they got on those elevators. They could be everywhere by now!”
“For the time being, we need to get out there and let people know what's going on. We don’t have any choice but to get that done. We get inside that studio and we shut that door tight. Keeping them out is as important as anything until we make that announcement. Once that's done, I’m going back to Iowa and getting my kid and sister-in-law before it's too late.”
“What about all of us?” Leslie asked.
Jude said, “Come with me, stay here—it's up to you. I don’t have any choice but to go after my boy. He doesn’t have anyone but me and his aunt. I’m the only parent he's got left, and if something happens to him, then I might as well eat a bullet, because I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”
Chapter 4
“Good afternoon, Kansas City. I’m your number one anchor in Missouri. You know who I am: I’m Trent Rice.”
“And I’m Helen Speirs, and together we are your number one news station on Channel Seven.”
“Yes, Helen," the weather man said as the camera cut to him, "we have some breaking news which needs to get out to our viewers. Our man on the roads, Randy, says that the interstate is backed up for as far as the eye can see. We are trying to get an eye in the sky, but our pilot is having some mechanical issues. But he should be back up and running in no time. Back to you, Helen and Trent.”
Trent read the prompter and jumped when the doors to the set exploded open. Jude and the other four ran up, screaming and waving their chainsaws. The only things Trent saw, were the heavy packed weapons covered in blood, and that was more than enough to scare the hell out of the timid man. Trent held up his hands. “You guys need to leave and you need to do it now, unless you'd like to have security called. How the hell did you get past the security guards dressed like that?”
Jude didn’t contemplate how it would sound and said, “Your security guards are dead—we're wearing them.”
Trent stood, leaving Helen to fend for herself, crying and screaming, "I'm too beautiful to die!" He ran off set while Helen sat clutching her notes, which didn’t seem very useful any longer. The cameraman looked around wildly, talking into his headset and pointing the camera at the ground.
Jude said, “Can my friend Joann say something on air, please? I promise we aren’t crazy. We have something we need to say. Joann here works for the CDC. She might be covered in blood and guts, but that isn’t her fault—well it is, because she was the one who chopped off their heads and got—”
Helen moved to stand, and Chuck ran up, holding his arms out for her to see. “You're okay, we're not going to chop your brains up…well, I mean, if you become one of the dead, then we need to take care of you, but I’m sure that you can understand that.”
Helen, sure Chuck was some crazy redneck, couldn’t wrap her head around his words. “You—you just want to be on television?”
Jude nodded, ushering Joann before the cameraman. Jude ran over to him when he saw the red light on the top of the camera go out. “You need to turn that back on, and you need to do it now. You don’t realize what you're doing.”
The man shrugged, saying, “Look, fella, I take orders from the man up there. He says he wants it turned off, I turn it off. You’ll be happy to know that the police just got called.”
“Well, the police are a little preoccupied today, so you're going to be waiting a while.”
“Look, I do what I’m paid to do: no more, no less.”
Jude nodded, staring up at the control booth above, where an older man crossed his arms and screamed at the top of his lungs. Jude ripped the headset from the cameraman’s head and said, “Look here, asshole, if you’re worried we're going to ruin your show, that you're going to get in trouble—well, think about this: if you want to be out of this business forever, then pass on us giving our little public service announcement. This is exclusive, breaking-news shit. No one else has this, and no one else knows it. If you had a chopper, I’d say get his ass up in the air right now. If you were smart, we should all get on the damn thing, because shit isn’t going to hit the fan, it has already hit it.”
Jude stood there for a moment before a voice came back through the headset. “What kinda shit are we talking about here, kid?”
“We were in another town—long story short, there was a chemical dump that should not have happened.”
“Did you start it?”
“No, we didn’t. And the repercussion from it is basically that the dead are walking. They are infectious, and if they bite you, you'll die, too, and come back again as one of them. The earlier we warn people, the better your chances of being around another day to keep doing what you're doing.”
Again it was quiet, but when he did a rolling motion with his fingers, the cameraman knew well enough to get the camera going. The cameraman whispered, “Sir, do you think you might get out of my shot? We can’t warn anyone about anything if all they can see is you.”
Jude bit back a reply as he realized that he was definitely in the way. He nodded, ducking down, and Joann stood next to Helen. Helen, who had a look of complete confusion on her face, said, “Well, we are so glad that you could join us today for this, for this…”
Joann said, “Some sort of chemical compound has brought back the dead. Now, those who came back are also biting and—for lack of a better word—infecting the living with the disease. The best thing you can do is stay inside and away from all doors and windows. There is nothing that can be done, short of smashing in their heads or chopping them off. The CDC will be making plans of action to help prevent further infections. Unfortunately, there is little that can be done until a plan of action is confirmed.”
Helen said, “Well, it seems like we have a caller coming through who wants to ask Joann a question. Joann, are you okay with answering a quick question from one of News Channel Seven’s faithful and wonderful viewers?”
Joann said, “I’m sorry, are you missing what I'm saying? This is important—this is a warning that will save everyone
!”
“Hey, hello, am I on this here station? Am I live?”
Helen said, “Hello, caller, you are live with Channel Seven. What question did you have for Joann?”
“I got me more bullets than God, and I can take them out plenty good. You all had any issues with shooting them in the head? I mean, does that kill them? It always seems to work in the movies and what have you.”
“Yes, a bullet to the head is effective, but the caliber must be large enough to blow off their heads, and even then there's no guarantee you'll be able to take them out with one shot. We had to use shotguns, and we've still been unable to take them out with any regularity, sir.”
“You sure y'all ain’t just shitty shots?"
Chuck, not one for having his manhood questioned, even indirectly, marched onto the set. He said, “Now, God damn it, would you listen here to me, please? These damn things are dangerous. The dead are out walking—they are killing, they are eating—if you ain’t smart enough to listen to this woman, well then, you are a dumb shit. She’s the smartest person around right now who's qualified to give medical advice. We need to keep people safe; you need to listen. My friend Jude over there didn't miss once—it took two or three slugs for each of 'em. Jude took out a whole shit-ton of them, but he used up every shotgun shell he had. You can’t go and have a war when you need to use over half your ammo for every single one of those damn dead things.”
The caller was quiet. A voice could be heard screaming in the background, and then the phone was dropped. A growl came from the opposite end, and then the only thing that could be heard was the rhythmic squelch of something wet being chewed on.
Chuck said, “Now, that is why we're saying inside, folks, because they will eat you. Do not go outside at all!”
When a second caller came through, Helen said nothing. She was too busy pointing in awe at the door to the studio. “Help!" She screamed. "Help, help! What the hell are those—what's wrong with them?"
In horror, the entire studio followed her pointing finger. A horde of the dead had made their way into the studio. Chuck reached to start his saw, but Jude was already pulling back on his own, giving it all the gas he could. When the dead drew close, he revved it, running and stopping short. He left himself just enough room to bring the saw down low; the sound of bone on blade echoed through the studio as he sliced through their knee caps. The dead lost their footing, falling forward and cracking their heads against the marble floor.
Helen leaned forward over the news desk. Her Southern twang faltered and went straight to a Brooklyn accent. She screamed, forgetting all about what could and could not be said on air. “Holy, fucking shit—what the hell? Well, at least that isn’t too viol—”
Jude walked across, kicking grasping hands away from his feet, and brought the sawblade across, cutting the top halves of the deads' skulls off, leaving their brains to roll out onto the studio floor. He ran to the door, seeing that the dead seemed to have multiplied. Jude turned around, yelling, “You got what you need to say done, Joann?”
She gave a thumbs up and left Helen sitting there, wild-eyed.
Helen said, “Wait, what about us?”
“If I were you," Joann answered, "I'd consider hiding somewhere safe.”
“Where would that be?”
“I don’t have any idea. I’m pretty sure they aren’t too good with doorknobs, and they probably can’t climb ladders, but the bitten and the rain-drinkers seem pretty resourceful, so far.”
“Wait!" Helen screamed. "Wait, can’t I just come with you? I mean, I won’t be any trouble. I have a son I have to get home to.”
Chuck said, “Yeah, what’s his name?”
She stumbled, opening her mouth, then closed it. “Well, what I mean is that one day I plan to have a son, that’s what I mean—maybe two. Please don’t leave me here—I’m not a survivor. What can I do?”
Jude said, “Oh, for God sakes, can we quit fucking talking and get the hell out of here?”
"I can take you to the helicopter pilot for the station!" Helen burst out. Everyone stopped.
"Take us to him," Jude said.
Helen led them through a door behind the news set, into a breakroom with one occupant huddled behind a table, clutching a helmet like a shield.
"Sir," Jude barked. "Hey, are you a pilot, buddy? Do you fly the news chopper?"
The man stood when he saw Helen, nodding. “Call me Jon, or call me Spielman, but don’t call me sir. Christ, that makes me feel old. Yeah, yeah, I do. Why? What the hell's going on out there?”
“Fine, Jon, because we need to get out of here, and these fuckers haven’t learned how to fly just yet. Can we ride with you? If you have any reason to land, minus a full on army being with you, we're the next best thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, we can go. Damn chopper's been having issues, though. I can’t promise it'll make it out of state.”
Jude said, “Jon, just get me out of the city, and you and I will be just damn fine, thanks.”
Jon looked at Jude and his equipment and nodded. “Yeah. Alright, we need to give it a couple minutes to warm up. Is that okay with you?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Jude asked.
Jon actually laughed at this. “No, not unless you want it to crash.”
“Let’s have it warm up as much as it needs to. You lead the way.”
Chuck and the rest of the group, now including Helen, ran behind the pilot, following him out a back door and to the stairs above.
Jude noticed a phone as he was passing a large group of offices. “You guys keep going, and I'll be up there in a few minutes. If I don’t call home I’m going to lose my damn mind. I need to know—I need to know if I need to go home.”
Chuck said, “You all go on up there, damn it, we'll be up in two shakes.”
The girls didn’t look too pleased about splitting up, but went anyway. Jude had not done wrong by them yet, they sprinted up the stairs with Charlie and Helen, following the pilot. Jude said, “You should get your ass up there, Chuck, that’s a guaranteed ride, brother. Don’t go passing it up.”
“Well, if I go home without you," Chuck said, "Maria is going to royally kick my fucking ass! So why don’t you get going on your little phone call so we can go up and meet them.”
Jude picked up the receiver, dialing the number. Each spin of the wheel seemed to take a year. By the time he was done, he was ready to smash the phone, knowing that he was wasting precious time. Each unanswered ring of the phone made his heart sink lower in his chest. Finally, after seven rings, a voice answered, just barely audible.
“Hello? Jude, Chuck, who is this?”
Jude, unable to control himself, gave Chuck's shoulder a celebratory punch. Unfortunately for Chuck, Jude had not been focused on limiting his strength. Chuck rocked back, losing his balance, tripping over an office chair, and landing on his ass. Jude yelled, “Oh, shit, Chuck, sorry, I was just so excited that I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Chuck rubbed at his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m super-excited, too. Let me give you a nice celebratory kick to your balls; I'll try to refrain from kicking you too hard. How does that sound?”
Jude took a few steps back, shaking his head. “Maria, is that you?”
“Jesus, Jude, who else would it be? Tell me you're almost home, that you're on your way here right now!”
Jude looked up at the ceiling, thinking about his answer, and said, “Well, we actually went west instead of north.”
“Were you lost, or stupid?”
“I’m fighting zombies with fucking chainsaws. I'd say I’m probably crazy. We wanted to warn people; we figured going to a big city and getting on the news would be the easiest way to do it. We just did it, and now we're going to fly home. We have a helicopter pilot, right now, getting the rest of our group ready on the roof. We're going to fly out of Kansas City, and he’ll either drop us off away from the city or, hopefully, bring us all the way back there. I haven't really work
ed out the specifics, but I have a feeling that he’d really like to just get as far away from these things as possible.”
Maria said, “Well, then, he sure as hell doesn’t want to come here. They're everywhere. I think there are more dead in this fucking town than there are living. How the hell is that? I mean, I see thousands of little kids Patrick's age—how can they all be dead?”
“You realize the town has been there for over a hundred years, right? Before we lived there, there were probably Indians on the land. Death is as old as life, Maria.”
“Oh, shut up, Jude. When are you going to be home?”
“Is Patrick all right?”
“You mean has he been eaten by these horrible things? No, he hasn’t. He's fine and sitting down in the basement playing with his trucks. I keep running to look out the kitchen window, but it seems like every time I do, there are more of them. I don’t think I can see any more of them out there—like, what I mean is, I'm going to lose my shit, Jude, if you don’t get your ass home. I can’t deal with this—it's too much to handle. One of the neighbors came out and shot one of those things point blank in the damn head. Point blank, Jude. Do you know what happened?”
“Let me guess: they got eaten because they were using a small caliber rifle or pistol and it wasn’t enough to take any of them out. If you do that, you need to make sure you shoot them where they won’t be able to get back up, or you need to fucking run. You've got Patrick, so I’d probably refrain from making that your plan of action.”
“You think I’m going to try and take those things out with Patrick sitting by my side? That's a horrible idea—what the hell is wrong with you, Jude? Do you know what my sister would do if she was still here?”
“Yeah, she’d kill me, but if she was still here, we’d be together. I don’t know where you’d be, of course...probably out living a life of your own.”
“Jude, I’m living the life I want. If I didn’t want to be here, then I wouldn’t be. It is as simple as that, Jude. Now on a side note, I do most definitely want you to get yourself back here, and I want to get the fuck out of Dodge.”
