Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  The fifth and sixth IED’s detonate. The devices were hidden in vehicles parked on either side of the street with one fifty feet further up the street than the other. The charges blow inward to the street, causing the same devastating damage the other IED’s had. The zombies are reduced to mounds of rotting flesh. Severed legs and arms are everywhere. One zombie, missing his entire lower half, drags himself along the ground towards nothing. A few zombies walk around ablaze before falling to the ground. Jack observes the carnage for another thirty or so seconds then looks at Camera 12. The Chevy 4x4 has no immediate movement around it. Where are the keys? He suddenly recalls seeing a small row of hooks in the kitchen with keys hanging. Jack sprints down the stairs, carrying a small flashlight.

  Jack stops at the bottom step, looking at the front door. It’s intact, showing no sign of weakness. He walks to the kitchen, stopping briefly at the closed trap door. The faint smell of decaying flesh is lofting up through the floor. Yep, time to leave. He raises the flashlight, finding the keys hanging near the garage door. A Chevy emblem on the third key ring shines brightly. Jack shakes his head, how am I not dead already? He snatches the key from the hook. He slides the key down deep into his right pocket feeling his finger poke through a hole. “Oh, right, zombie fashion.” He slips the key into the opposite pocket.

  Jack looks at the packed bags sitting next to the front door, surmising he will be able to carry everything in one trip. He looks up the stairs then ascends them two steps at a time. In the control center, Jack studies the monitors, weighing his options. He can exit the front door and walk along the front of the house using tall hedges for cover, or he can exit the back door and walk around to the gate, leading to the side of the house. “I hate escape plans,” Jack says out loud, half expecting to see the ghost of Julia. “Julia. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I could really use your help right now.” No answer or hint of her ghostly presence. A chill runs down Jack’s spine, as he feels truly alone for the first time. The pounding on the front door returns, numbness returns, and Jack’s eyes grow tired. He is in the grip of pure exhaustion as he stares at the monitors. His thoughts cloud, falter, then he drifts on a yellow raft to his past.

  “Hurry up, Jack. He needs his hair combed and his lunch packed. We’re running late.”

  “I know I know. Ronan, front and center.” Jack stands holding a hairbrush and a small spray bottle.

  “Aw, Dad, really. Can’t I just wear a hat?” Ronan stands a few feet down the hall from his father.

  “No. We’re not heathens and you don’t wear a hat indoors. You know that. Now front and center before your mother grounds both of us.”

  Ronan rolls his eyes and walks down the hall. Jack places a hand on his shoulder turning him around so he can see the back of his head. “My goodness, boy, you’ve got quite the rat’s nest back here. Hold still, this is definitely going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

  “Ugh. Do you think we can watch the new Scooby Doo tonight? Ouch.”

  “Depends if you finish your homework and if you’re a good boy today,” Jack says, spraying more water on the back of Ronan’s head in an effort to reign in the wild hairs. “You really need a haircut.”

  “I’ll be good, promise.” Ronan bargains with his father.

  “Boys, now. We need to go. Why don’t you drop him off today Jack,” Julia says rushing through the house in a frantic pace. “We really need to start getting up earlier.”

  “Earlier, yes. Drop off today, no. I have a meeting with the principal at Ash. She’s a stickler for promptness.” Jack says combing out Ronan’s hair.

  “Can I grab a toy?” Ronan asks finally free from his father’s tyranny. He runs down the hall to his room marked with a colorful RONAN sign.

  “I really need more help around here and with him Jack. I don’t like this pace.” Julia stops at the end of the hall with her hands on her hips. She looks at Jack with disappointment.

  Jack breathes deeply before answering, “I know, Julia. Give me a god damn chance to breathe this morning and I swear I’ll set my alarm earlier and get up. I was up late last night working on—”

  Jack is cut off as Julia waves a hand in disgust and storms off. He begins to walk after her, but stops at Ronan’s room. “I said no toys and leave the hat here.”

  Ronan sighs and sets his favorite Hot Wheel and his father’s beat up Giants hat on his bed. “Ok, Dad. Is Mom really pissed?”

  “Oh man, where did you learn that word?”

  “From you.”

  “Figures. We better hurry. She’s on the warpath and I don’t want to hear that word come out of your mouth again until you’re thirty.” Jack and Ronan walk out the front door of the house, finding Julia waiting in her car with the engine idling. She is busy on her cell phone reading emails. Jack opens the back door telling Ronan to hop in. Ronan sits in his booster seat and reaches over to pull the seatbelt across. Jack reaches in to help.

  “I got it, Dad. I know how to do this.”

  “I know but...”

  “Where’s his lunch?” Julia asks without looking.

  “I’ll drop it off for him later.”

  “Whatever. Are you buckled in, Ro?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright guys, I’ll see you later today and I’ll see you tonight.” Jack steps back closing Ronan’s door, not noticing he is still fidgeting with his seatbelt. Julia backs out of the driveway and stops. She peers out the passenger side window at Jack. He is waving slightly at her. She smiles and flashes the “I love you” sign, then drives off. Jack walks back to the house to gather his notebooks and backpack. He looks over some notes regarding a class he’d be teaching the following week, pours a fresh cup of coffee into his travel mug, grabs his keys and almost dead iPhone. He steps outside hearing sirens off in the distance, not thinking anything of it. Just over a mile from their home, Ronan’s crumpled body rests nearly thirty feet from Julia’s destroyed car.

  CHAPTER 62.

  Stuck

  The sounds of dogs eating flesh drift up, reaching Sly and Brett. Both sit on the edge of the tree house deck, though neither dangles their feet over the side. Sly, choosing not to look at the carnage below, stares at the Eastern sky and the all-encompassing darkness. Maybe this is it. Maybe the sun won’t come up again and we’re all dead. She has failed her friends, that’s the only reality left for her. Maybe if I was a better shot…. Maybe I’m really dead. Her thoughts continue crossing one another, jumbling together in one heaping mess of guilt and self-loathing.

  Brett’s voice brings Sly back. “You should sleep. In the morning we’ll need to find my dog, make sure we have the keys to the truck, and I’ll have to take care of Roger. I can’t leave him like that. He’d do the same for me.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Sly has to shake the lingering thoughts from her head and concentrate on what Brett is saying.

  “We need the keys to the truck. Hopefully one of those dogs didn’t eat them. I also need to find Sugar.” Brett looks down to the ground but can’t see any movement. He can hear dogs eating, visualizing flesh being stripped from bone. He rests his head against a rail and tries to push the images of Yonkey or Papi being devoured out of his head. He closes his eyes tight and thinks of Sugar. She’d been his dog for a mere 24 hours, but he misses her, tremendously.

  “You’re right, Brett. I’m sorry for all of this, you know. I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

  “You lost your friends, too. You and Sugar are all I have left.”

  Sly places her arm around Brett drawing him in close. “You and Roger made one hell of a team. I was impressed with you guys. I’m sorry I drug you guys to the Atrium.”

  “My dad would say, what’s done is done. There’s no going back.”

  “Sounds like a smart man. I’m going to take you up on your offer and get some rest. Can I crash here on the bottom floor?” Sly asks standing, cognizant of the low branch this time.

  Brett answers, still peering into the
darkness, “You can go up to the second floor. There are some sleeping bags and pillows up there but they’re dirty. It’s all we have.”

  “Thank you, Brett. We’ll assess our situation in the morning and go find Sugar and those keys. Are you coming up?”

  Brett hesitates before answering. “I’m going to sit here for a while. If Roger is looking out his window I want him to see something or someone familiar. I don’t know what it’s like to be one of them but I’m sure he’s scared.”

  Sly hesitates, and then decides not to answer. Brett has grown in the past few hours and doesn’t need her pity or her wisdom. He’s wise beyond even her years, Sly thinks. She finds the small staircase leading up to the second level, using the light on her rifle to look around. She finds a dirty green sleeping bag with what may have been a Hulk pillowcase. She sits down on the hardwood floor, sets her rifle to the side and removes her flak jacket and various other holders. Once free of most of her equipment she opens the sleeping bag fully. Brett is correct; the sleeping bag is quite dirty, but it’s still soft and warm. She wraps the sleeping bag around her and rests against the tree trunk, eventually falling asleep sitting upright. Down below Brett stares at Roger’s window, crying for his friend, while infected dogs finish consuming Yonkey and Papi. Three miles from the tree house, Sugar is running.

  CHAPTER 63.

  HZy-392-XtC BLaCK

  Butler glances between his watch and the clock on the computer screen, and then types the command, careful to use the proper casing, HZy-392-XtC BLaCK. The gravity of the situation finally begins weighing on him. He isn’t a God fearing man nor is he about to begin. He had learned of the rapidly spreading infection well before it made the nightly news. He had put together his team and executed the plan put before him by the United States Government, NATO and multiple other world governing agencies, some of which were not known to the regular populous. Now his team is terminated, all part of the plan. He sits patiently, waiting for the last few minutes to tick down.

  Over the past four hours Butler has slept a spell, showered, shaved and read the same article concerning the Minnesota Vikings. He walked the halls of the underground facility determining how he was going to dispose of the 39 bodies. He performed routine maintenance checks, initialed logs where it was required and found other routine tasks to help clear his mind. At one point he found himself in the galley, where he scrambled two eggs and made a side of country sausage. It wasn’t the healthiest meal but it really didn’t matter if he indulged. It made him human, not the robot he had become for his government. He slipped in and out of different living spaces finding a CD of Sly and the Family Stone. He can remember his mother playing their music when he was younger. He loads the CD in the facilities PA system, turning up the volume.

  Every Day People plays over the speakers. Butler closes his eyes for a moment, remembering dancing with his mother when he was only five or six years old. He opens his eyes, smiling, as the clock ticks down to 0.00. He drops his right index finger onto the RETURN key. The screen blinks, blinks again and a message scrolls at the bottom.

  BLACK EXECUTE MD GO 1. ALL GO ALL GREEN

  GOD SPEED>

  Butler sits back, placing his hands behind his head and listening to the music. He daydreams about the world.

  CHAPTER 64.

  Escape plan 2, AKA Chimes

  Jack pushes the blackout drapes aside from the master bedroom sliding glass door and slips out onto the deck. Cool air washes over his face. He breathes deeply, feeling his pulse slow just a bit. He peers over the railing. “Fuck me.” His pulse quickens. The backyard is once again crawling with zombies. He scans the area, finding a section of fence that has fallen. Jack leaves the sliding glass door open, returning to the control center. He grabs the spiral notebook, flipping through the boom boom pages again. He studies the map, then walks over to the box. He connects the wires labeled 2 and 7. Number 2 is behind the house in the field and 7 is further up the street. He can hear a car alarm in the distance.

  With hope, Jack steps out onto the deck again looking past the neighboring rooftops. The zombies below look up, growing agitated. They push against the deck supports. Jack ignores them. Behind the house a short distance, in the field, a song begins to play. Jack turns his attention to the field. The zombies below the deck all turn in unison. Some move towards the field. The song continues playing but something is off. Jack recognizes the song, Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces” but something is definitely wrong. The song continues then slows. Patsy’s voice becomes distorted. You were one smart man, Mr. White. In the middle of the field, a large portable stereo, powered by batteries, rests on top of large plastic egg crates, covered with a thin plastic liner to keep it dry. Two sets of thin wires stretch from the bottom of the stereo into the tall grass. A crudely constructed timer is counting down while the song grows more distorted.

  Jack turns his attention back to the car alarm when the explosion happens. This time it’s not much of a surprise to Jack. A large plume of smoke rises towards the brightening morning sky. Time to go. Jack looks over the railing once more. A few stubborn zombies remain below, but most have wandered towards the field. Jack walks back into the room, then the first of four pipe bombs explode. The explosion, and subsequent shock wave, catches him off guard, causing him to trip forward into the master bedroom. He quickly finds purchase, deciding he isn’t giving the backyard escape route any further thought. He snatches his backpack, sliding his arms though the straps, while grabbing the duffle bag and slinging it over his left shoulder. The JBFG is slung over his right. He carries the 12-gauge pump in his right hand. He studies the wall of monitors one last time. Zombies were still in front, but there numbers were few. Jack dons his Giants hat and the second and third explosions occur, shaking the house. Debris rains down on the roof and deck. Now it’s really time to go.

  Jack reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks towards the kitchen. He thinks briefly of the family in the crawl space, feeling a slight tinge of envy. At least they’re together someplace, hopefully. He checks the shotgun and walks to the front door, kneeling down to peek through the mail slot. The walkway is clear, but for two slow movers near the driveway. Both zombies are turned away from the door. He removes the wooden beam barricading the door and pulls it open. The zombies turn around and bump into one another. Both fall over dead hedges. Jack steps outside, smiling at the sight of the dead stooges, then turns bumping a wind chime with the top of his hat. “Son of a bitch!” He rips the chimes from the eaves, throwing them as hard as he can towards the street. “FUCK!” He ducks, passing under the next set of chimes, and walks the length of the front of the house, remaining hidden behind the line of dying hedges. He reaches the side of the house and peeks around the corner. He ducks instinctively as the fourth pipe bomb explodes in the field, well away from the first three, taking out another large group of the undead.

  Jack can see a clear path to the 4x4. He walks, hunched over, towards the truck then stops and raises his shotgun at a runner that appeared from across the street. He waits as the runner takes a few more strides then removes the zombie’s head. “Boom, motherfucker!” He racks another shell, sending a spike of pain up his left arm. “Getting cocky, Jack.” In the distance he sees walkers moving his way. He picks up the pace, trotting the remainder of the way to the truck. He digs the Chevy key out of his pocket, then grabs the door handle, only to find it unlocked. Surprised, he pulls the door open and tosses the duffle bag into the passenger seat. He climbs into the standard cab pulling the door closed behind him. He stares at the key. “You better work.” In the rearview mirror he can see them coming.

  The key works. Jack listens to the engine turning over slowly. “Please.” He lets off the key for a second then turns it again, holding the gas pedal down halfway. Again the engine turns slowly. “Come on, motherfucker!” The engine turns…turns…and roars to life. Jack guns the motor in reverse, flying into the street and over several zombies. He grabs the gear selector, seeing h
er out of the corner of his eye. She is smiling at him. Runners approach from all angles, bouncing off the doors, bumpers and high fenders of the Chevy 4x4. Jack races to the end of the neighborhood, exiting back out onto old Hwy 273. He turns left and heads north back towards Redding. In the CD player The Chili Pepper’s Soul to Squeeze plays. He turns up the volume. Jack sings along with the windows rolled down, feeling cool air rush by while passing between broken and burnt out vehicles littering the highway.

  CHAPTER 65.

  Point

  Brett’s eyes pop open as he lifts his head from the cold railing. A line of drool stretches from the corner of his mouth to the wood. He wipes his mouth and opens his eyes wider, in an effort to fully wake up. He knows exactly where he is, quickly realizing he had fallen asleep against the railing. His neck hurts and he is cold. He stands, feeling every one of his twelve years on earth multiplied by ten, and looks inside. He expects to see Roger sitting there and is surprised when he doesn’t see him. He is about to climb to the second floor of the tree house when the memories rush back. He walks back to the deck looking out upon the dead world. Looking at Roger’s house, his breath catches in his throat as he locks eyes with Roger’s corpse, standing calmly at the small bedroom window. Roger looks at Brett, never blinking.

  Brett watches his friend for a while, and then lifts his right hand, waving. Roger doesn’t return the gesture.