by Tim Meyer
Ranger Steve stepped forward, lining the end of his shotgun with the head of the closest zombie. The groaning corpse had a flap of Ruth's skin dangling from its mouth like a long string of spaghetti. One pull on the trigger and the zombie's head disappeared, leaving behind a misty crimson cloud.
Emily slid into the back of Ben's car. Glancing out of her window and seeing more than six ravenous expressions eagerly wanting in, she shrieked. They pawed the window like cats playing with bits of string. If the glass wasn't between them, Emily knew she would've been torn to shreds much like the old lady.
Brittany came next, sitting in the middle. Quickly, she shielded Emily's eyes, waiting to find out what had happened to their mother. Seeing their only parent become part the dead horde's feast was the last thing Emily needed. “Don't look, sweet pea.”
“Don't call me sweet pea,” she snapped, hating the name her sister called her throughout her childhood. “Is Mom okay?”
Brittany didn't answer. Instead, she glanced back to see what was taking so long.
Suddenly, Josh corralled Victoria into the back seat, slamming the door behind her. He heard the women rejoice, saw them embrace each other before turning his attention to his next dilemma—how Ranger Steve and he were going to share the last remaining seat in Ben's Sonata.
“Come on!” Josh called to the park ranger, who continued firing into the crowd. “Let's go now!”
Ranger Steve ignored him. He pumped his weapon and squeezed the trigger, claiming another kill.
“Let's—” Josh shut his mouth when one of the biters rushed the park ranger's blindside, grabbed him around his broad shoulders, snapping at his neck. Scarlet marks appeared on his jugular, red rivulets soon followed. Immediately, Josh knew the ranger was done for. He yelled in agony as two newcomers latched onto his waist, tangling his feet and sending him to the deck. In a matter of seconds, the horde descended on him, taking advantage of his heroic folly. Josh could only bear a second of the slaughter. The grown man's blood-curdling screams stretched his eardrums. A vibrantly-red pool crawled out from under the pile of gluttonous creatures.
Josh turned, hoping to see the passenger's side door open, inviting him to safety. Instead, he was met with an open mouth. Fresh blood ran down the zombie's chin. It had fed on the old lady, now ready for dessert. Josh pushed the corpse aside like a heavy bag at the gym. The zombie didn't resist, falling to the side like an inflatable clown. Josh rushed past him, jumping into the passenger's seat.
He didn't need to tell Ben to go, the car took off as soon as Josh slammed the door shut.
Zombies latched onto the hood, but Ben was able to shake them off easily. Josh glanced at the side-view mirror, watching them tumble into the distance.
Ben's Sonata sped down a path only wide enough for one vehicle to travel.
GAMES
CHAPTER NINE
“Ya'll hear something?” Otis said. “Sounded like it came from downstairs.”
The three of them sat in silence. Moments passed. Then Floyd went back to fucking around with his video camera. “You hur things, Otis. I swears.”
“Naw. I swears I heard somethin'. From the basement. I reckon I heard screaming.”
“Maybe dem' fuckers are fightin' again,” Cooter said. “Whose turn is it to check the tapes?”
“Momma's down der. Ain't she?” Floyd asked.
“It's almost sun up, dick-fo-brains. Momma sleeping.”
“Sheet,” Otis said. “Well, Floyd. I'd say it's your turn.”
“Me? Shee-it.” Floyd slammed the camera down on the table in front of him. “I'll be right back. Ya'll better have that sheet fixed by the time I get back. We got ourselves a hunt goddammit.”
Cooter and Otis agreed silently.
Once Floyd left the room, Otis turned to Cooter.
“You ready fo' tonight, brother?” Otis asked.
“Sheet. Ready as I'll ever be.” Cooter pointed the camera at his brother. He slid the screen out from the side. In the small screen, he saw Otis perfectly. The red light in the corner blinked at him. He pressed record. “Say something. Pre-hunt speech.”
“Brother,” Otis said, staring into the camera. “This is going to be the best damn hunt we ever held.”
“Sheet. Couldn't said it better myself.”
Floyd ran into the room. “Ya'll!”
“Sheet, what is it, Floyd?” Otis rose from his seat. “Just about scared the piss outta me.”
“It's Bobbi-Jo.”
“What about her?”
“She goan got herself in some sheet.”
“Sheet,” Otis said, scratching his scraggly, dirty hair. “With the contestants I reckon?”
Floyd nodded.
Otis nodded.
Cooter looked worried. “Sheet, Otis. What we goan do?”
“Boys,” Otis said. “Looks like we goan have ourselves game.” He smiled, grabbing the shotgun resting against the wall. “Right fucking now.”
“Open it,” Ben commanded. She didn't twitch. Ben squeezed her jaw harder. She groaned. “I said, fucking open it. The next time I have to ask, I'm going to do it myself. And that means there will be no need to keep you alive.”
“Um, Ben?” Josh said.
“Not now.”
“Um, yes now. Whatever suicidal thought that's going through your head, you better hurry it up.” Ben looked at Josh. He was pointing to the far corner of the basement. “You're on candid camera, buddy.”
Ben noticed what he was pointing out; a small red dot gleamed at them from a small, makeshift window in the concrete.
“Shit,” Ben muttered.
“What are you waiting for?” Ross said. “Break the bitch's neck and get us the hell out of here.”
“Are you crazy?” Tabby asked him. “There's no way we're getting out of here, even if Ben gets us out of these cages. They have guns. We're unarmed. We don't stand a chance.”
Ross shook his head. “They can't shoot all of us.”
“Yes they can!” Tabby yelled at him.
“Well it's better than dying in here!”
“Stop arguing!” Ben shouted.
Silence fell over them, until the highly anticipated, highly dreaded footsteps broke it.
Otis entered the basement first, his shotgun drawn, aimed directly at Ben's head.
“You might want to let go of her,” Otis told him.
“And if I don't?” Ben asked.
“Then I have to kill my own sister to get to you. And that won't make me too happy, I reckon.”
Bobbi-Jo stiffened in his arms.
Ben knew it was his only option. They might kill him for attempting to escape, they might not. It didn't really matter at this point. If he didn't surrender, they'd kill him for sure. Giving up was the only game in town, and Ben didn't have any other choice but to play it.
He gradually let go. Upon realizing that Ben had loosened his grip, Bobbi-Jo broke free. She immediately turned, kicking Ben in the balls as hard as she possibly could. The blow caused Ben's knees to buckle. He writhed on the floor, letting an emasculating whine escape his lips. Bobbi-Jo kicked him again, this time in the ribs, which had been feeling okay until then. Pain shot through him like a bullet. He cried out again, feeling wetness sprinkle his face. A long string of saliva hung from Bobbi-Jo's mouth. “Motherfucker,” she muttered. “And to think I was going to pity-fuck you before the hunt! You motherfucker!” she screamed, kicking him again.
Ben crawled into a ball. He tried to regain his breath, ignoring the debilitating pain that sabotaged the lower half of his body.
Bobbi-Jo reared her leg back to give him one last kick, but Otis stopped her.
“Now, now. There's no use ruining Mr. Ben here. He ain't goan be much use crippled.”
“I say we feed him to that fucker over there, right now!” she snapped, pointing to John Vander, who was still trying to reach his way through the chain-link fence.
“Damn, Bobbi-Jo!” Cooter yelled. “I ain't seen you this wo
rked up since you got your first period!”
The Three Little Pigs chuckled. Bobbi-Jo continued snarling at Ben, who remained in the fetal position.
“Bobbi-Jo, why don't you head upstairs and wake Momma,” Otis said. She pretended she didn't hear him. “Now, Bobbi-Jo! Go on!”
She turned to him. “Wake Momma?” she asked, seething.
“That's right,” Otis replied. A smiled formed somewhere beneath his bushy, dirty beard. “We got ourselves a game to play.”
CHAPTER TEN
They had been huddled inside a large barn. While they were glad to be out of the dank and unforgiving basement, the barn didn't offer better scenery. The day's first light peaked through naked windows. The air was tainted by horseshit. It was so strong they could almost taste it. Otis and the rest of the Barker family stood before them, red, cross-bucked doors at their back.
Tabby sobbed heavily, holding her mute son while he looked with fear. He had no idea what was happening.
Ben and Josh exchanged glances. Ben's ribs ached like hell. Josh needed a fix. Ross held Landry in front of him, resting his chin on the top of his son's head. Paul Scott sat in the corner, looking at the Three Little Pigs with contempt, his mind running through the scenarios where he killed all three of them and escaped. Delusions, nothing more. The old dude in the cowboy hat, Bob, rested against the barn door, chewing his own tongue, wishing it was tobacco. Emily latched onto Brit, whimpering softly, hoping no one would notice how scared she was. Victoria stood behind her daughters, tears glistening on her face in the dim light the morning sun provided.
“Here's the deal-e-o. Ya'll gonna run, and we gonna chase you,” Otis said.
The Barker family cheered.
“You can't do this,” Victoria pleaded.
“We can, and we will,” Otis said firmly.
“Look,” Ben said. “The woman I called. She lives near Pittsburgh. She said the government is going to blow everything east of Philly completely off the map. New York, Newark. Trenton. Philly. Boston. Baltimore. All the major cities on the East Coast are completely, one-hundred percent fucked. The government knows there's nothing that can be done. So instead of infecting the rest of the country, they're going to blow it all to hell.”
Otis smirked, laughing through his nose. He glanced at his family.
“You're lying.”
“I'm not. Otis, I swear that's what she said. I didn't get to finish my conversation with her, but it sounds like we don't have a lot of time. It could happen at any point.”
Otis shrugged. “Well, I guess if that's the case, then we fucked anyway. Might as well have some fun, right?”
“Otis, please—”
Bobbi-Jo stepped forward and punched Ben in the gut. He dropped to his knees. She grabbed his cheeks, hard. She steered his head so their eyes could meet. “I can't wait to watch you die,” she grunted, then spat in his face.
The Three Little Pigs exploded into laughter. Momma Barker bent over while slapping her knee, finding her daughter's actions hilarious.
Ben didn't find it funny. Neither did the rest of them.
“We pros at this sheet. Guess now would be a good time to tell ya'll that no one has ever made it longer than twenty minutes. And that means...” Otis said, gleaming at them as Cooter and Floyd pushed open the barn doors, letting the smell of the dead in, “...that no one's ever survived.”
Bobbi-Jo kicked Ben out of the barn. He tripped and fell, mud splashing against his face. He glanced up, finding himself inside a corral. There were no horses, at least none he could see. Behind him, Josh was being booted out, tossed into the playing field. The rest of the group was being lined up, ready to be released into the arena.
“Ya'll get a five minute head start,” Otis said. “Then we comin'.”
Victoria was next. Bobbi-Jo pushed her. She fell to her knees, next to Ben. It was Brit's turn next and before Bobbi-Jo could give her the same treatment, Floyd grabbed her wrist.
“Dis one and the blondie are too precious to waste. I reckon we can find better uses for them.” Floyd licked his lips, gleaming at Brit as if she were a glazed-ham dinner. Brit's face contorted. She nearly gagged.
Bobbi-Jo glanced at Otis for approval.
“Fine,” Otis said. “Put them off to the side. We goan have ourselves a little fuckfest when we get back.”
Victoria overheard them and went ballistic. She scrambled to her feet, trying to run back into the barn, swinging her fists and screaming at the top of her lungs. Ben hadn't noticed any walkers in the area, but if there had been any nearby, they'd be on their way. Before Victoria could grab hold of her daughter, Otis knocked her in the head with the butt of his shotgun. The blow took her feet out from under her. Victoria hit the muddy ground hard. Ben crawled over to her to make sure she was okay. Her pupils rolled behind her fluttering eyelids.
“Stay with me, Vic,” Ben whispered.
Ben looked back into the barn trying to gauge what was happening. He saw Cooter prying Emily away from Bob the Cowboy. Once he had the two separated, Cooter socked Bob in the jaw, then tossed him out of the barn like a rowdy drunk. Bob tumbled across the earthy floor, losing his hat in the process. They gently shoved Tabby and Anthony into the arena. Next came Paul Scott, who didn't fuss. Ross and Landry were the last ones to enter and they, too, went willingly.
The barn doors closed slowly. Ben watched the wet faces of Emily and Brittany disappear behind them.
Behind the trees, dawn illuminated the horizon.
“Wake up,” Ben said to Victoria, gently slapping her face.
Her eyes fluttered briefly before opening wide. She gasped for air, as if breathing were a foreign concept. She grabbed Ben's shoulders as she calmly let her lungs fill up with the sweet country air.
“Don't tell me...” she muttered, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. She did nothing to stop them from falling. “Please... God...”
“We'll get your girls back, Vic,” Ben said. “I promise.”
“I think we should get going,” Ross said. “I can smell the dead. They're not too far away.”
“Me too,” Paul Scott said. “Maybe we can find somewhere to hold up,” he suggested.
“What's the point?” Bob the Cowboy said, putting his hat back on. “It's only going to delay the inevitable.” He shook his head. “You heard the sumbitch. Ain't nobody ever lasted longer than twenty minutes.”
“So what do we do?” Ross asked. “Wait to die?” He shook his head furiously, brow furrowing. “Uh-uh. No way. I'm not going down like that.”
“Well, I'm staying here,” Bob the Cowboy stated. “Ya'll can go run off and get eaten by zombies, that's fine by me. But I'm waiting for those sumbitches right here. And they gonna put me down honorably.” He made his hand into a gun and pressed his pointer finger against his temple, then lowered his thumb. “I ain't gonna be a pawn in their little game.”
“Look. We should spread out,” Josh said.
“What?” Ben stared at Josh wearily. “No, we stay together.”
“Oh, that's a good idea. If we want to be slaughtered simultaneously.” Josh paced around them. “We break off into small groups. We'll be able to hide better and they'll be easier to overtake separated.”
“What if they hunt together?” Ross asked. “Like in a pack?”
Josh looked at him. “That's why we gotta spread out.”
Ben helped Victoria to her feet. “Okay. Let's break off into groups of three. Josh, you're with me and Victoria. Ross, you and your son go with Bob.”
“Told ya'll. I ain't going anywhere.”
“Fine. Then Ross and Landry go with Tabby and Anthony. Paul, you're with us. That's two groups of four. Good?”
“It's better than one group of eight,” Josh said.
“Ya'll are running out of time,” Bob the Cowboy said. “According to my watch, you only have a minute left on that head start.”
The paint-chipped barn doors opened. Bob the Cowboy watched three figures emerge fr
om the shadows within, garbed in full hunting gear. Their faces were covered by handkerchiefs. They wore big orange wool hats, which would've been appropriate in the winter months, but seemed odd in the month of June. The fattest of bunch carried a shotgun. Bob assumed that was Otis, the leader. The other fat one was carrying a crossbow. The skinnier of the three was holding a high-powered rifle across his chest. Bob paid particular attention to the scope on the barrel. These boys sure ain't fuckin' around, he thought.
“Didn't you get the memo, old man? We was givin' ya'll a head start,” the fat one in the middle said.
“I ain't running from you,” Bob the Cowboy said.
“Sounds mighty fine by me,” he replied, then raised his shotgun, pressing the end of the barrel to Bob's head. He pulled the trigger and the old cowboy's head splintered into a million pieces. Blood and brains were sent airborne. Bob's body crumbled to the muddy arena floor. The hunters walked over his headless corpse and continued with their adventure.
“Reckon I message Bobbi-Jo? Have her come grab da' body?” one of them asked.
“Naw,” the leader answered, catching something move in the corner of his eye. “Let the dead claim 'em.”
Josh opened the door to the gutted Toyota. The frame of the car was mostly rust. He could barely tell that it was once painted teal. The door squeaked, bringing familiar worries. He could smell the zombies. They were close.
“Anything?” Ben asked.
“Hold on.” Josh sifted through the crap on the seat. There were porno magazines and old newspapers all over the place. He brushed them to the floor. “Shit. Nothing.”
“Let's try the next one.”
They crept along the long row of abandoned vehicles, which seemingly belonged to previous victims. License plates and VIN numbers had been removed. Josh stuck his head in the next vehicle. He searched for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon. Food. Water. Anything.
