Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  The banging intensifies.

  “I’m numb, Julia. I don’t feel anything anymore. I think I might be dead, I just don’t know it yet.”

  Julia’s ghost stares back at Jack, smiling. She touches his cheek, a cold stir in the air occurs, and for the briefest moment in time he can feel her again.

  “Are you really here?”

  You know the answer Jack

  “Before the accident I promised you something. What was it?”

  You promised me a poem for my birthday

  Jack’s eyes widen as the words hit him like a bat. He can’t tell what’s real or what’s imaginary. His eyes sting, for he refuses to close them, looking at his wife, looking at the ghost of his wife. The vision is burning into his memory, her smile, her touch, her words…reality rushes in and bitch slaps him across the face as the sound of breaking glass arrives. Determined, Jack walks straight through Julia’s ghost and retrieves “Jerome’s Big Fucking Gun” along with another 12-gauge pump shotgun, and a bandolier filled with shotgun shells.

  Jack walks down the stairs with no hesitation, stepping right up to the front door. He slips barrels of Jerome’s gun through the mail slot and pulls the triggers. Both barrels fire at once, obliterating the midsections of the two zombies standing at the door. Jack reloads the modified shotgun, kneels down, and peers out to the dead world through the mail slot. He can’t see any zombies standing near the door. With both hands he removes the large beam of wood from the holders and begins unlocking the door.

  Jack

  “Gotta go, darling,” Jack smiles, pulling the front door open. He fires one shot from Jerome’s gun, removing the heads of two zombies. He kicks over one zombie missing most of its midsection, finishing off the second with a round from one of his .357’s. The smell of burning putrid flesh mixed with the smoke of spent shells fills the air. Jack tosses the sawed-off shotgun back into the house, swings the 12-gauge around and fires. He is laughing maniacally as zombies swarm.

  CHAPTER 56.

  ALL COMM LOST. RENAISSANCE FAIL. M-D GO.

  AUTH CODE: HZY-392-XTC BLACK

  EXECUTE 22:57:00

  Sebastian Butler stares at the brief but powerful message. His secure terminal is safe, even from the so-called worm the college boys created and set loose using the most sophisticated and powerful computer equipment in the world. Sebastian is an old dog, drafted into this war after a distinguished government career, and will soon use his old ways to fulfill the orders he has received. He takes no pleasure in his role nor will he ever, but he is talented, dedicated, and loyal to his government. He has seen action in several theaters of war, though there is no official record of Sebastian Butler. He has no family and no friends to concern himself with. He has a job to complete, not a mission, missions are too passé, and he has just over 22 hours.

  Butler removes his thin wire-rim glasses and rubs his eyes for a moment, wishing the lights in his office and throughout the installation were anything but fluorescents. This is the one thing he has in common with Phillip and Dix, and well just about every citizen of U City. He slips his glasses back on and picks up a personnel chart. He confirms, though he’s known all along, the total number of citizens in the underground facility: 39. All of whom are support or tech personnel with the exception of two guards posted at the main shafts entrance. Butler walks over to a small wall safe and punches in a six-digit code. The door opens and he removes a Glock 21 .45 caliber pistol with a threaded barrel and three full magazines. He slaps the first magazine in but doesn’t pull the slide back. Next he retrieves a black silencer from the safe and screws it into the threads at the end of the barrel. He pulled back the slide loading the first round, pausing a moment to test the weight of the weapon. He removes a Navy Blue sports jacket from his closet and dons it. The Clock, even with the added length, conceals nicely under the jacket.

  Before exiting his office, Sebastian stops to read the last article ever written in the Minneapolis Star Tribune. The article concerns the only thing he cares about more than his country, his beloved Vikings. Unfortunately they lost in a shootout against the San Diego Chargers, just a week before the event. He reads every word in the article and studies the box scores as well. He places the folded newspaper on a small side table, ignoring the front-page banner indicating a strange illness sweeping the twin cities and walks away.

  Part 4

  All Fall Down

  CHAPTER 57.

  Deck

  “I think we can find some more rope and cut up some old tubes to help cushion her ride up. What do you think, Brett?” Roger asks looking up at the tree house.

  “Yeah, that’d probably work,” Brett says, looking at the tree house as well. “There’s an old mountain bike sitting out in the street in front of Shelly’s house. We can use the tubes from it. We’ll have to look through my garage or yours for rope.”

  “No need, boys. We have plenty of rope in the truck. Come on, Brett, we’ll grab the bike. Rog, you grab the rope. Let’s make this fast. The sun is going down just as you said it would,” Sly said, poking fun at Roger.

  “Ha ha. You just wait, this place is not nice when it’s dar…k,” a spasm seizes Roger’s chest, cutting his breath short.

  “You ok, sweetheart?” Sly asks, walking over to Roger.

  “Yeah. I think I swallowed a bug or something. Let’s get the stuff and get Sugar up there,” Roger said, faking as though he was spitting a bug out. He walks by and pats Sugar on the head, seeing her instantly back away. “Wow, she really is your dog, Brett, which means you get to walk her and feed her and clean up after her.”

  “Whatever. She’s a good girl, aren’t you, Sugar?” Brett kneels, scratching Sugar behind the ears.

  Sugar’s tail wags slightly, but she remains focused on Roger. She can smell death on him, can smell the wound.

  Brett and Sly soon walk ahead with Sugar in the rear. Roger follows nearly thirty feet behind. He reaches the truck where Papi and Yonkey are discussing their next move.

  “Give Roger some rope to help lift their dog into the tree house,” Sly says loudly as she and Brett pass by.

  “You really gonna stay here?” Papi asks, looking Roger in the eye.

  Roger looks away quickly, not knowing if his eyes are turning grey or fogging over yet. “I’m staying and so is Brett. But you can always come back and check on us if you want.”

  “Whee, that sounds like fun,” Yonkey replies smartly.

  Roger moves to the rear door of the truck and asks, “Do you keep the rope under the rear seat?”

  “Pull the seat forward. There should be plenty. You can take the whole bunch if you need it,” Papi answers. “I tell you what Roger, we’ll make it a point to come back by here every now and then if you promise to never sucker punch me again.”

  Roger pauses, places a finger to his chin, mimicking the Thinker, then answers, “Deal, and sorry about that.”

  “Well alright then. Yonkey and I are going to check a few of the houses for supplies. Any suggestions?”

  Roger retrieves some rope and looks around the neighborhood. “We’ve been through every house on this block and the next street over. There is no food left but there may be dog food for Sugar. No weapons either, but you may find something useful in some of the garages. We haven’t checked every garage…” Roger stops again to catch his breath.

  “You sound tired, son. Take the rope back to your tree house. Yonkey and I will handle the dog food. I’m sure we’ll find something for her.”

  Roger leans forward in the truck cab as sparks of pain shoot through his body. So this is what it feels like. This sucks. “Thanks, Papi. If you go over on Mesa Rock look for the house with a mailbox that looks like two cows humping. You’ll probably find a bunch of useful tools. The man who lived there had everything, or at least my dad said he did,” Roger explains, scooping up the rope. He walks past Papi without looking at him.

  “Two cows humping. Alright then,” Papi says chuckling.

  Roge
r walks into his backyard and stands at the foot of the large Live Oak. He drops the rope and looks over to his house. He can smell dinner cooking on the stove, can hear his family inside. The theme song for The Simpsons plays through his thoughts and he misses T.V. He pulls back his sleeve revealing the bite mark, seeing it has turned black. He lets the sleeve drop and grabs the rope ladder. He places his foot on the bottom rung, reaching up.

  “Wait just a minute. Let me go up first and secure the space,” Sly says, gently pulling Roger aside. He doesn’t look at her. “It’s ok, Roger. I just want to make sure it’s safe.”

  “10-4,” Roger answers, stepping away from the ladder.

  Brett steps beside Roger with Sugar near, watching Sly move up the ladder. “I’m going to miss that,” Brett states, watching Sly’s ass.

  “Me too.”

  After a minute, Sly yells down, “Wow, you guys have some hangout here. Come on up. You should see the sunset from up here. We should get Papi and Yonkey up here. I can see why you feel safe way up here.”

  “Go ahead Brett, you first. I’ll be right up,” Roger insists.

  “Don’t have to ask me twice,” Brett says, grabbing the rope ladder.

  “I’ll bring the rope up with me. Take the old rope off the pulley.”

  “10-4.” Brett reaches the top and waves Roger up. “Come on up. Sugar, stay. We’ll be right back down.” Brett is smiling from ear to ear.

  Roger grasps the ladder then looks to Sugar who has scooted several feet from him, “I know, girl. It’ll be ok.” He begins to climb. One rung, second rung, third, he slips, falling to the ground. Death racks his body with waves of pain. Roger turns his head as Sugar backs away. Tears fill his eyes again. “Fuck this!” He grabs the rope ladder for a second time and climbs. Every rung takes a monumental effort, draining his life force even further. He reaches the top and hesitates for a moment, not by choice, his body is seizing. He feels hands grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him the remainder of the way into the tree house.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you getting sick, like the flu or something?” Brett asks, as Roger remains face down on the floor of the tree house.

  Roger rolls his head to one side and stares at the worn Iron Man comic book sitting on the floor. He closes his eyes and thinks of all his comic book heroes. He thinks of their heroics and their sacrifices for the greater good. He can’t be selfish, won’t be selfish. His friend’s life depends upon his sacrifice. He struggles to stand, leaning against the wall, then walks out onto the small deck where the pulley is located. Tears stream down his cheeks as he faces his best friend. Brett is standing next to Sly, both looking grave. Roger wipes away tears before speaking. “You remember when I told you to always be prepared, because some day…I might not be here anymore?” Roger asks, staring at Brett with graying eyes.

  “Oh shit, Roger, what happened?” Brett asks taking a step forward.

  Sly steps along with Brett as well, raising her weapon.

  Roger holds up his hand. “It’s ok, guys. I just need to know that you’re ready to…go on without me Brett.”

  “No, no, no. You’re my only friend. I can’t,” Brett exclaims, beginning to cry.

  “Brett… Listen to me. You can’t hesitate anymore. You can’t be the class clown anymore. You need to promise me you will always be careful…watch your surroundings. I told your mom I’d always look after you. Man, she’s gonna be really pissed when she sees me.”

  “What’s wrong, Roger? Why are your eyes changing?” Brett demands answers, while losing his composure. The situation is too much for him to handle. How will he survive without Roger?

  Roger looks at his best friend and then to Sly. His eyes continue to fog over. He pulls back his sleeve, revealing the blackening bite wound. He tries holding back the flood of tears, failing miserably.

  Brett shoots forward, body-checking Roger violently from the tree house deck.

  As Roger falls, he can see Brett’s face peering over the edge of the deck. Thank you.

  CHAPTER 58.

  Retreat

  What the fuck am I doing…Jack continues firing the shotgun as fast as he can pump rounds into the chamber. Boom, clack, boom, clack. His left hand and forearm throb. Blood seeps from the bandages. The dead fall, most missing heads and various other parts of their upper bodies. Jack barely has time to think as he shoots, but he knows he has to reload the shotgun or switch weapons. He has made it approximately twenty feet from the front door, when he slings the shotgun and removes the first of his two 357’s again. His first shot is errant, signaling his retreat. He sprints for the door with a horde of runners on his tail. He barges through the half open door and spins quickly, grabbing the door in an attempt to slam it closed.

  The first runner, a tall African American male and former Army soldier complete with broad shoulders and a wrestler’s build, hits the door running at full speed, driving it straight into Jack’s left shoulder. Jack spins like a top, slamming hard against the floor. The zombie soldier loses its footing and slides hard into a wall face first. His ashen grey face splits wide open, revealing festering pustules. The zombie’s skin slides down its well-defined cheekbones as it braces itself against the wall to stand up. Jack sees a second runner, a little girl in a tattered dress, sprinting towards the door with a wall of dead trailing behind.

  Jack turns his attention back to the zombie soldier as it braces itself against the wall. Jack rolls quickly towards the door, spotting the little girl zombie still running for the door. Shit. Jack reaches over with his right hand, grabbing the bottom of the door, slamming it as hard as he can. The doorknob catches the little girl zombie right on the corner of her left eye, fracturing the eye socket, and driving her back violently. Her little body lands flat on the walkway where she tries to find purchase, but is trampled by the moving wall of dead. Jack spins on the floor, retrieving the second .357 from its holster, and steadies it with both hands. The soldier zombie is standing, looking for the meal.

  Jack watches the slipping face for the soldier zombie for a long second then pulls the trigger. The shot is deafening inside the house. “Fuck, that was loud!” The back of the zombie’s head is splattered across the wall leading into the formal sitting room. The banging on the outside of the house has started again. The front door rattles and creaks as the dead reach it. Jack sets down the .357 and begins to stand, when the upped half of a zombie Jack had all but destroyed with JBFG, grabs his right thigh and bites down hard. Jack screams and thrashes violently, trying to remove the zombie from his leg. He strikes the zombie square in the face with his right fist, feeling the nose break. He strikes the zombie again and again, finally knocking it away from his leg. The half-zombie crawls around the floor, positioning itself for one more attack. Jack doesn’t wait for the attack, swinging the beam of wood directly down on the zombie’s skull. The end of the beam is dripping blood but it’s of no concern to Jack. He looks at his right thigh, and pokes his finger through holes the zombie left in his pants. His finger presses against the cold stainless steel of the flask. Saved by a flask? That’s a first.

  Jack slips the beam into the steel holders on either side of the door and makes sure the locks are secured. He backs away from the door, hands shaking, and listens for a moment. He can almost feel their collective weight crashing down upon him, and a small part of him wants it to happen. He has fought this event since the day it started. He has fought to stay alive because that’s what he is supposed to do, but he still doesn’t really know why. He looks at his butchered left hand as blood trickles from the wounds. Is this the price I pay?

  Next to the front door hangs a long mirror. Jack is sure Mrs. Man in white and her girls used this mirror to check their hair and makeup on the way out of the house. He remembers a similar mirror hanging in his home Julia used for the same reason. He and Ronan used it to make faces at each other. Jack stares at his reflection, which has become a shadow of his former self. His beard is thick and unkempt, his eyes have dee
p dark circles under them and his face looks gaunt. Jack sits on the floor, resting his back against the wall near where the zombie soldier lost most of his face. He thinks back to his mother suffering from the later stages of Alzheimer’s, saying over and over, “I want to go home, I want to go home.” She passed in a convalescent hospital room void of any character or warmth. He swore this would never happen to him or Julia. Now he sits in a stranger’s house, void of warmth and life, knowing he will never see his home again. I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go…

  CHAPTER 59.

  Mama

  Papi and Yonkey come sprinting around the corner of Roger’s house, hearing Sly yelling for them. They both stop and look at Roger lying flat on the ground. He is moaning and his arms are moving slowly.

  “Did you fall, boy? Are you ok?” Papi asks moving closer to help Roger up.

  “No. Don’t touch him. He’s bit,” Sly, commands with her rifle raised.

  “Don’t shoot him. Maybe we can….” Brett doesn’t know what they can do, but he wants to do something for his friend.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him,” Sly answers, not taking her eyes off Roger. Her rifle is sighted perfectly on his head.

  Papi and Yonkey take a step back, raising their weapons as well.

  “Please give him a minute. He deserves that much,” Brett pleads with Sly.

  Sly glances at Brett then back to Roger. The tears in Brett’s eyes register. “Fuck. Ok. You got one minute. If I think he’s close to turning I’m putting him down.”

  Brett stares at Sly not knowing what to do next.

  “Clock’s ticking, Brett.”

  Brett scrambles down the rope ladder and approaches Roger cautiously.