Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  “I’m sorry about Roger. He really cared about you.” Sly, standing behind Brett, sees Roger as well. She places a hand on Brett’s shoulder, but he doesn’t turn around.

  “I can’t leave him like that. I should’ve let Papi or Yonkey do it. I did nothing for him.”

  “You did more for him than you’ll ever know.”

  “He died because of me. He died because my mom asked him to watch me like I was some kind of idiot. I almost got us killed a few times because I wasn’t paying attention like he told me to.”

  “We all die, Brett. Roger didn’t die because of you. You were his best friend and all that he had left in this world. It didn’t matter that your mom asked him to watch out for you. He would have been with you no matter what. I’ll help you if you want or give you space, but let me say, when it’s over, I’d really like to stay here.”

  Brett looks at Sly before answering, “I need to do it myself. When I’m done I’ll need help burying him. The ground is hard. I can’t leave him in there to just rot away. When that’s done we’ll have to figure out how to hang a curtain or something upstairs so we have separate rooms.”

  Sly smiles before her thoughts turn. “We need to check below and then get the keys to the truck. We should really make some plans.”

  Brett stretches over the railing so he could see directly under the deck, where he had last seen Papi. There is nothing, except the blood stained ground. Papi’s shotgun rests several feet away in dead grass. Brett searches the yard, spotting the remains of Yonkey. Most of his body has been stripped of flesh and his head is sitting near the rest of the remains. The side of his head is open and hollow. Sly stands next to Brett, turning her head after spotting Yonkey’s remains. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Just as Brett is about to answer he hears an engine roaring off in the distance. “Do you hear that?” Brett asks, standing on his toes to gain a better view of the surrounding streets.

  “No…wait. There’s a vehicle out there. Maybe somebody from the Atrium got out,” Sly says with growing excitement.

  “Or maybe it’s more military.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer. Can we see more streets from the second story?”

  Brett smiles, “We sure can.” The two race to the second story west-facing window. Brett pulls open the shutters and peers out over the neighborhood with Sly standing directly behind him.

  “There, on Bonnie View. Blue truck. He’s moving. Looks like he has people in the bed.”

  “That’s odd, I guess. Doesn’t look like anybody’s chasing them. Why would they be heading that way?” Sly asks watching the truck drive out of sight.

  “The only things out that way are the U-Haul place and the cemetery. Could be heading to the mountains.”

  “Maybe. Let’s wait up here for a while to make sure nothing is following it. If there is a tail, let it pass before we draw any more attention our way.”

  Brett walked back down to the first level and sat on the deck, allowing his legs to dangle above the ground below. He rested his head on the same railing as before and stared at Roger standing at the window.

  ***

  The cool breeze feels good. Jack’s beard and loose locks flutter in the wind as he weaves the truck in and around abandoned vehicles, dead bodies, debris and other obstacles in his way. More Pepper’s play as a new sense of freedom washes over him. He has a full tank of gas, a bag full of guns and a destination in mind. He is free from the house of horrors, where he helped feed a zombie family with his own flesh…and bones! His left arm has developed a nasty infection and it aches like a bitch. He attempted to keep the wounds clean, and gave himself shots he thought were antibiotics, but in reality, he didn’t know what he had self-injected. Still the breeze feels good, he feels alive.

  As he drives, Jack sees birds flying and even a cow roaming the side of the highway. He reaches the south end of Redding and turns east, entering surface streets where he encounters more abandoned vehicles and even more undead. Runners appear periodically, but Jack sings along with the music, speeding up slightly when needed. He looks briefly at the CD player, wondering how many tracks the disc contains, then back to the road, slamming on the brakes. The truck skids as Jack turns the wheel to the right, then back to the left to stop the fishtail. A golden retriever sprints past, close to the front of the truck. He watches the dog disappear between two buildings. “Did not expect that.”

  The first infected dog leaps onto the soft bed cover, followed by two more. Their combined weight tears through the cover. A fourth runs head first into the passenger side door, instantly killing itself. Jack quickly turns his attention to the bed of the truck. Two of the dogs strike the rear window with their paws and snouts, leaving behind long smears of blood-soaked saliva. The infection has grown worse, mutating in the canines, making them ravenous. Blood drips freely from their eyes, noses and mouths.

  Jack looks directly into the grey eyes of the dog closest to him. “What the fuck?” He guns the motor, forcing the dogs backwards. The third dog slips, falling back into the trucks bed and slamming into the others. Jack swerves several times trying to throw the dogs. He accelerates then brakes hard, hoping to kill or at least injure the dogs. Nothing works. He rolls up his window and accelerates across Redding, swerving around anything in his way, while the dogs continue attacking the rear window. Jack races through a clear intersection and cranks the wheel hard to the left, discharging one of the dogs from the bed. The large brown dog, a mutt, rockets from the bed, striking the pavement and sliding into a waiting curb, breaking all four legs. It tries to get up and run as shards of bone split its skin, sending sprays of blood in all directions. Jack turns right onto Bonnie View Lane, speeding around obstacles again.

  Jack encounters a large group of zombies socializing in the middle of the street. “Ah, fuck!” Jack brakes and swerves, missing the middle of the walking mass, but plows into several zombies shambling along the edge of the group. The 4x4 easily dispatches the walking dead, but the stench and mess left on the front of the truck is vile. Jack turns on the windshield wipers to remove blackened blood and other matter from his view. The two remaining dogs continue attacking the rear window, splitting their noses like overripe tomatoes. Jack doesn’t bother looking in the rearview mirror, since it’s coated with bloody saliva. Jack continues down Bonnie View towards his final destination. His two passengers are now pushing his patience. He looks over in the passenger seat seeing JBFG.

  “Oh you did it now, you fucking mutts. In my life I will!” Jack pulls the wheel hard to the left while braking, sending both dogs tumbling to the opposite side of the bed. The truck hasn’t ceased moving, when Jack steps out raising JBFG. The truck continues rolling slowly as both dogs regain their footing. They spot Jack in their field of vision and both, one a Dalmatian mix and the other a very thin German Shepherd, charge. Jack fires both barrels. The Dalmatian’s head explodes and the Shepherd catches most of the buckshot in the chest. Satisfies, Jack walks towards the idling truck resting against the curb. He grabs the Sheppard by the nape of the neck, slinging it away from the truck and listening as it hits the ground with an all too familiar sickening thump. Jack climbs back in behind the wheel and the truck dies. He turns the key, listening to the motor turn over without starting. “Come on.” Jack continues turning the key, hearing the motor slow. He hears them in the distance, lots of them. “Fuck it.” He exits the truck, snatching his backpack and duffle bag. “Only a mile to go.” He starts walking, then jogging, moving closer to home.

  ***

  Sugar is racing away from the small house and the boy that was nice to her. She wanted to stay, but the approaching dogs and the other boy scared her. She wants to go back to her master and be by his side. It is what she knows. It is all she has in this strange new world. The other dogs run in packs, an instinct she shares, but something holds her back from eating the dead flesh wandering the streets. A hidden sense holds her instincts at bay, assisting her self-preservatio
n, helping her survive. She did run with other dogs for a while, but food became scarce. That’s when they started changing, hunting the dead. The dead flesh never smelled right to her, but at times she was hungry, and came close to feeding on the dead.

  The boy was nice and she misses the continuous scratches behind the ear. She didn’t want to leave, but she had to. She could smell them coming, she could smell death on the other boy. She ran from the house, heading west into the city and back to her master. Along the way, several infected dogs picked up her trail and gave chase. She wasn’t like them, didn’t smell like them and would have been caught, if it weren’t for the passing truck. She raced directly in front of the truck, diverting attention away from her. She didn’t look back.

  Thirty minutes later she turns a corner and walks slowly towards the half open door of a small dark office. Cars are parked all around the office, making it difficult to tell if any of the dead humans or dogs are close by. She creeps slowly along the wall, stopping at the door. She rests her head on the cool pavement for a moment then scoots closer. His back is against the wall and his head is slumped against his chest. He doesn’t move, nor does the female lying just inside the door. Sugar cautiously scoots closer to her master, sinking lower the last few feet. She places her head in his lap and bumps his hand with her snout a few times. She doesn’t pester her master any further, doesn’t worry or fret over his lack of enthusiasm, simply choosing to remain with her head in his lap. She is home.

  ***

  Sebastian Butler walks along the long bank of monitors, slowly dragging his right hand across the bottom of the screens. They feel warm, almost hot to the touch. He can feel electricity, probably static, running up his arms. It felt good, he felt alive. He steps behind the first row of computer consoles, finding the wireless controller Phillip utilized. He twists the center knob slightly and watches a traffic camera somewhere in Manhattan NY. The dead walk the streets freely. He pushes another button, turns the center knob and the screen changes to a bank security camera outside Atlanta GA. So on and so on, he continues changing the screens in front of him. The PA system continues playing the best of Sly and the Family Stone.

  ***

  Sly rests her head on Brett’s shoulder and watches Roger. The grey eyes of Roger are watching them.

  “Do you think he knows it’s us?” Brett asks.

  10…

  Jack reaches his destination, though it’s not in his neighborhood, standing outside the burnt offerings of his house. He is standing outside a large cemetery, one he has not visited since the funeral for both his wife and son. He climbs over a small fence and strolls casually between the gravestones, holding Ronan’s small red Hot Wheel in his right hand.

  9…

  Sugar nuzzles the hand of her master once more. She remembers when he would pet her and play with her. She can remember his sound, his motions and his scent that is growing fainter by the day.

  8…

  “He knows it’s you up here. That’s why he’s not going crazy in there like others would,” Sly says, turning her attention back to the morning sky.

  7…

  Jack drops to his knees and pulls long weeds away from the gravestones marking Julia and Ronan’s graves. Somewhat satisfied with his weed pulling, he sets the Hot Wheel carefully on Ronan’s gravestone. “I brought your favorite car, Ro. I would’ve brought more but I ran out of time, little man. This one’s still in great shape. It rolls really…well.” Tears fill his eyes.

  6…

  Sugar’s eyes close as she falls into a deep sleep with her head resting in her master’s lap. She can feel him rubbing her ears ever so slightly.

  5…

  “It looks like it’s going to be a nice day. The sun is out, the birds are singing. We can clean up this yard and bring the truck around and get our grub on. What do you think about that plan?” Sly enthusiastically asks spreading her arms wide inviting the new morning in.

  Brett smiles then looks back to Roger’s house. “Can we just stay up here for a while? I know what I have to do when we go down. Just give him a few more minutes in his room with his stuff.”

  4…

  Jack wipes away the tears and pulls his journal out of his bag. “You asked for a poem for your last birthday, Jules, and I never got it to you. I have one here I wrote recently. I hope you like it, darling.” Jack sets the open journal on Julia’s gravestone.

  3…

  Screen 1 flashes then goes blank. A few seconds later, screen 2 does the same. The sequence continues. “And so it begins, and ends,” Butler says as the music stops.

  2…

  Brett sits with his head against the rail, watching Roger. He has waved a few times with no response. His eyes grow heavy as he begins to drift, then Roger moves. Brett straightens, swearing Roger pointed to the sky briefly. Brett looks to the western horizon. “Something’s wrong, Sly.”

  1…

  Jack stands, holding his journal, looking at Julia’s gravesite. He begins reading out loud, “Why do I see you…” His attention is drawn to the western sky.

  At 7:13am PST, the first ICBM detonates near the mountains west of Redding California, sending a devastating blast of nuclear energy across a 500-mile radius. It is one of many ICBM’s and other nuclear warheads striking the United States and the rest of the world. Mutual destruction has been confirmed and executed. Sebastian Butler watches the last monitor go blank, stands and walks past the bodies of Phillip Lodge and Jason Dix, stopping briefly. “You boys did a good job. Your country thanks you.” Butler passes through the rear door, pleased it didn’t squeak. He walks back to his room, picking up the newspaper sitting on his side table. He opens it to the sports page, pops a small white capsule in his mouth, and reads the Vikings’ box score one last time.

  “What was that?’ Sly asks in a panicked tone.

  “I don’t…”

  The flash is tremendously bright, followed by an evil rumble.

  “Oh god.” Sly pulls Brett close.

  Brett can see the wall of destruction coming straight for them. The heat reaches them first. He closes his eyes, burying his head in Sly’s chest. She holds him tight and closes her eyes as the heat rapidly increases. “It’s ok, Brett.” A second wall of heat pushes through the tree house, setting everything on fire.

  Jack looks to the west, letting his journal fall from his hand. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Son of a bitch,” he says, standing motionless. He feels something in his right hand and looks down.

  “It’s time to go, Daddy.” Ronan is holding his hand tight, smiling.

  Jack squeezes the tiny hand three times then looks back to the sky, “I know, buddy. Let’s grab your toy and go home.” Jack watches his son pick up the Hot Wheel from atop his own gravestone and he in turn picks up Ronan, holding him tight. He opens his eyes one more time, seeing Julia smiling at him. He closes his eyes, breathing in his son. “I missed you, buddy.”

  “I missed you too, Daddy.”

  Jack turns to dust as immense heat and pressure flatten everything in its path. Redding is no more. Plumes of smoke and ash clog the air, darkening the face of the Earth. Soon dust will fall.

  END

  BRYAN KILLIAN is the author of Welcome to Necropolis and its sequel, Dust of the Devil’s Land. He lives in San Diego County with his wife, two children, and cat Luna. During his childhood he lived all over the west coast, finally settling in the small community of Shingletown, California, nestled in the foothills of Mt. Lassen. He attended high school in Redding, which, along with Shingletown, features prominently in his novels. When not writing, he enjoys time with his family, especially family movie night, reading old comic books, painting, and searching for the perfect single malt scotch. Bryan communicates directly with his readers on twitter @bkillian13

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