Jack Zombie (Book 3): Dead Nation
Page 21
Then something Klein says snaps me out of it.
He says, “This bag is how I’m going to put an end to all of those…those things.”
55
I try to ask him about what’s in the bag, but he’s not having it. His mouth moves a mile a minute. Blabbering about this and that, how the cannibals almost caught him and on and on. We get to the Hummer faster than we have any right to, only seeing two zombies on the way. Luckily, I only had to dispatch one and it was barely recognizable. Half of its body was trapped beneath the tires of a minivan. I was able to destroy the brain by way of metal claw.
Yeah, I kept the rope.
The Hummer remains untouched. It’s a gleaming, black hunk of metal almost indiscernible from the rest of the cars in the pale moonlight. Except this one revs to life and paints the road with its high beams as I turn the ignition.
Klein goes on about the communicability of the disease, the mass numbers of extinction, and so on. Things I learned from the 'media' right after we left Woodhaven, before the shit really hit the fan. I do my best to block it out but can’t. So I say, “Doc, you ever have a wife or a girlfriend?”
His face goes rigid and he turns away to look at the Potomac River rolling by us. We weave in and out of stopped traffic. “I…yes,” he says.
Then it hits me. I’m such an asshole. Not everyone was ‘lucky’ like us, not everyone survived the disease. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“She divorced me in ’93. I’ve no time for…other women,” he says, his voice fogged by the remembrance of lost times.
I chuckle, shaking my head. I really need some sleep. “In that case,” I say, “she ever tell you that you talk too damn much?”
He shuts up.
The rest of the journey is smooth. We pass a few zombies, stragglers from a late-night roaming pack. Luckily, in the utter darkness of the world, I see the faint glint of their yellow eyes long before my high beams catch the raggedy, blood-stained clothes. I swerve easily enough on the now open road, leaving the zombies to hunt for food they might never find, leaving them to rot.
56
I pulled off the road to sleep for a few hours. I wouldn’t have made the rest of the drive otherwise. Klein didn’t protest and he is still fast asleep. The morning sun peeks through a haze of purple-black clouds. It’s the second most beautiful thing in this horrible world. The first being my Darlene.
Klein and I are both covered in dried blood. We smell like zombies, the stench of death clinging to us like cheap cologne. The duffel is safe in the backseat where people I could’ve once called friends sat with me a little less than a day ago when we were heading to the nightmare that was Washington D.C.
It’s amazing how fast things change. That’s why I saved the man in the passenger’s seat, clutching his bag tight, holding on to it for dear life.
I will never understand this world where bags are more important than living. Messenger bags full of secrets. Duffel bags full of medicine. I wish I could.
And I wish I could sleep.
I slow the Hummer down to a smooth forty-five mph, hoping I don’t doze again but feeling pretty good. We are safer in the light and I am more awake in it.
I look over to Klein again. “You lucky son of a bitch,” I say under my breath. “You owe me one. You owe me one big time.” The messenger bag is slightly open. I see white papers, the printed word. I can’t help but be drawn to it. The mystery. The intrigue.
I think about peeking into the bag then think better of it. No. I’ll find out in due time. But no matter how much I tell myself I didn’t see the words written at the top of the page, that I didn’t pry into someone else’s business, I did.
They said: MOJAVE DESERT, and below that, CONFIDENTIAL.
We are cresting a hill. My mind is on Darlene. I’m beaming. Seeing her cancels out all of the bad.
We are almost at the top. I’ll be able to look down into the valley. I might even be able to see the small home Darlene and I shared two nights ago like a couple of people in love. Thoughts of them again, my group, my family: a healthy Abby, Herb’s good smiles, Norm’s crude jokes, Darlene’s kisses.
Then I see it. The faint smoke. The flickering flames. The bandstand is gone, Jacob’s cabin along with most of the others are gone. Consumed by flame. Mother’s blazes. There is running shadowy figures as small as ants from here. Some of them glow. Some of them are on fire. Then there’s a noise dulled by distance and glass windows — steady, muffled pops. Gunshots.
Oh, my God.
My heart deflates, physically hurts. A hand goes to my chest. It grabs my blood-mottled shirt. I gasp, almost forgetting it’s my hand and not the hand of a ghost.
Froggy’s hole-riddled face and dying grin hover in front of me. Him saying he would haunt me, him saying he’ll get me.
And my last thought before I stomp on the gas pedal is Please, God, don’t take Darlene from me. Please let my family be alive. Let them hold on.
Please.
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AFTERWORD
A CLIFFHANGER?!? Why, Flint? WHY?!?
Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I hate them, too, especially when you have to wait years to find out what happened to your favorite characters (I’m looking at you, GRRM). Luckily, as soon as I finished Dead Nation, I got to work on book 4. As of this writing, it’s not finished, but it will be out before the end of May 2017.
The good news is I have what happened at the Wrangler Village pretty much down, so I’ve added that into this volume in it’s raw and mostly unedited form. Forgive me if some minor details change upon publication of the fourth volume. If you want to find out NOW then by all means swipe the page until you get to the preview. But if you’re okay with waiting a bit, then I’ll give you a little background on this volume of the Jack Zombie Saga.
Dead Nation was largely written while I suffered from a broken foot. I play(ed) basketball on Tuesday nights in a local recreation league and I landed funny on someone’s foot and wound up snapping my own. First broken bone. Totally sucks. It’s almost healed now, but still a little sore in case you’re wondering. So, while bedridden, I wrote, read, and watched a lot of movies. My two favorites I saw during this time were Escape From New York — Kurt Russell is always a badass — and the original Carrie, she’s also badass.
The books I read during this time that I think will stick with me for the rest of my life were Carrie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Cat’s Cradle, and The Catcher in the Rye (I’m 23 years old now and finally got my first library card!).
My go-to songs while writing this volume were The End and Peace Frog by The Doors, the darkness of those two were very fitting.
As to where Jack and the gang will wind up next…it looks like they’re going on a trip out west with Doc Klein, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll end this stupid plague — we’ll see. I don’t know, but I hope you’ll stick around and find out with me.
Thanks for reading,
F.M.
April 21, 2017
Preview: Dead Coast
Chapter 1-
Fire rages. Doc Klein no longer sleeps in the seat next to me. He’s up now, clutching that damn bag to his chest, his eye practically bulging from behind his thin, blood spattered glasses.
I step on the gas pedal harder. I feel the floor beneath it, the thrumming vibrations of the Hummer’s engine going into overdrive. The road ahead of us is now lit up with golden sunshine. The grass has that fresh Spring green color. Trees going by in a
blur sprout new leaves and with them, a new lease on life.
But not for me.
“Watch out!” Doc Klein yells. His finger points at what’s beyond the dusty windshield. My heart no longer hammers in my chest. It has frozen. That weird feeling of zero gravity hits me, like I’m at the apex and soon I’ll fall.
I see Klein point at the curve in the road and the metal barrier blocking the asphalt from the forest.
I saw it a long time ago. If we go around the curve, it’ll add an extra ten minutes on our trip. I don’t have ten minutes to spare. Hell, I don’t even have ten seconds.
“You’re going to kill us!” he shouts.
“Not likely,” I answer.
But in the back of my mind I know he’s right. I’m no use to my family if I’m dead. Then I look to my left and see the black smoke rising, the inky black smoke, and I know then that time is an illusion.
Klein screams now, turns in his seat so it looks like he’s spooning with the messenger bag. My hands grip the steering wheel so hard, I’m making new impressions on it.
At the last possible second, I ease up on the gas.
It makes no difference.
The metal barrier is a blur as it goes up and over the windshield. I’m dimly aware that I’m screaming now, too.
The Hummer moves through the trees at around thirty mph. I’m careful to avoid the really large and thick ones. A metal barrier is nothing compared to Mother Nature, and she’d surely sign my death certificate and not bat an eye.
“Holy shit, you’re a mad man! They said I was crazy but you are truly — ” Klein babbles.
“Can it,” I say. My voice is oddly calm.
The landscape is slowly descending. Soon, we’ll be in the part of the forest where Croghan and some of the other Wranglers and I were attacked by zombies. The same part where Abby was bitten.
Abby, I think, a queasy feeling invading my stomach.
“What’s happening?” Klein demands. “Talk to me! Talk to me!”
“Shit’s happening,” I say.
“If you saved me just to kill me…I don’t get it!”
A group of deer scatter at the first sign of my headlights. The brief glimpse of brown fur and gleaming eyes startle me. I think because they’re not zombies. A cluster of trees rise from the hill, blocking my view of the village in front of us. There’s no way I can go through them.
“Damn it,” I say, stopping the car and throwing it into reverse. I turn to look over my shoulder and Klein grabs me.
“Talk to me!” he says. “Please!”
“No time.”
“A man who rushes only rushes to his death,” Klein says.
Screw that.
The Hummer’s tires kick up rocks and sticks and dirt.
Klein grips harder. “Talk to me!”
“My family is down in that village,” I say, cutting the wheel. “And I’m stuck in the fucking woods.”
“Jack,” Klein says, and the way he says it causes me to hit the brake…well, that and the fact I’m driving a Hummer and not a wood-chipper. “If the village is under attack — ”
Heat rises to my face. I have the urge to punch something. I feel trapped inside of a small box, claustrophobic, belittled. “If you tell me it’s too late, Klein, I swear to God I’m going to break your nose.”
Klein shakes his head. There’s no fear on his face, and rightfully so. Who would be afraid of me? It’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place. Trying to scare Froggy into being a better person. Laughable. Now look at me.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Klein says. I believe him. “I was going to say if you are outnumbered, it’s probably not your best bet to announce your arrival such as this way. Are you going to drive this behemoth into the flames, get out of the car with your pistol, and hope for the best?”
I’m at a loss for words. He’s right. I look down at my hands on the steering wheel. They’re no longer clenched, now they’re lose and shaking.
“Will you help me?” I ask.
Klein looks at me with intense eyes. For a moment, I think I see fear pass over his features, but then it’s gone. “You saved me, didn’t you, Jack?”
I nod. “I had to.”
“You didn’t have to do anything,” he says. “None of us do. That’s the beautiful thing about life. Everything is a choice.”
I look away at the endless trees separating me from the village, but through the dense woods, I see the flames, moving bodies, and the smoke.
“I’ll help you, Jack,” he says. “Then I’m on my way.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I say.
And he gets out of the car, slinging the messenger bag over his shoulder. I get out after him. I still have the pistol in my holster, the one that only has one bullet and is covered in dried zombie brains. It’s not much, practically nothing at all, but it’s all I have.
And I know I’ll make use of it.
I lead the way, running through the bramble and sticks. Klein and I head toward the battlefield.
Chapter 2-
The closer we get, the more I smell the flames, the blackened buildings, the charred meat, and the more the momentary hope in my chest gets smaller and smaller.
Screams. Gunfire.
My pace picks up. We are running down the hill faster than the car. Klein is behind me, how far behind I don’t know and I’m not going to look back. There’s no time.
I’m coming up on Mother’s hut. It’s just smoldering remains now. Seeing this almost stops me. All feeling goes out of my legs and feet. I don’t feel the ground beneath my boots or the cold metal of the bloody gun in my hands, the gun with only one bullet.
Where do I go? Where the fuck do I go? I can’t see anything. I don’t know who’s an enemy and who’s not. Darlene, where the hell is Darlene?
There are bodies at my feet, some are still smoking, all are bleeding. I can’t look down at them because I’m too afraid of who it will be.
God, help me.
I run through the bandstand. The wood and rubble clatter under my feet. The village, spread out in front of me, is on fire. Every building has caught.
I know where I’m going. I was always going this way, my brain just finally caught up to my feet.
The med center.
That’s where they would go, that’s where they’d go to get Abby.
If they’re not there, then the armory, though I don’t know if they know where it’s at. It’s a building no different than any of the other buildings…especially now where every building is either ruined or smoking and soon to be ruined.
I’m on the hard-packed dirt road now. There are two bodies strewn on the path. One of them moves. I slow down as my heart revs up.
Not dead. But who is it? Who is —
“Help,” a man says.
It’s not a voice I recognize.
More screams from farther away. Intermittent bursts of gunfire. I risk a glance behind me, see Klein moving in the distance, just now hitting the ruined remains of the bandstand. He clutches that bag to his chest so he can’t pump his arms.
“Help meeee,” the voice again. The man is face down, the back of his head is slick with blood and mud — bloodmud. “Marian,” he says. “Marian.”
I need to keep going, but I can’t. This man has seen me and I’ve seen him. He is hurt and maybe I can help him too.
The doctor reaches me. He breathes hard and fast. His face is red. Sweat droplets stand out on his forehead and gaunt cheeks like pearls.
“Jack,” he says. “Jack, what did you get me into?”
I barely hear him, but I understand. The chaos is just chaos from far away. When you get close, when you get into the heart of the heat and the smell of death and blood flood your nostrils and that screaming pierces your eardrums, it’s so different. It’s not chaos then. No. It’s hell.
“Help him,” I say.
Klein gives me a sobering look. “Help him?” He shakes his head. “Jack, look at him.”
God, help me.
The man tries to push himself up. He is kind of fat and his arms quiver as he boosts himself up. It is now that I see the blade handle sticking out from his solar plexor and the steady stream of goopy blood. His arms give out just as he says (or shrieks), “Marian!”
I try to catch him, but he drops like a sack of bricks. As he hits the ground, he screams. The blade handle buries itself farther into him. More blood.
“Mari — ”
And he dies right there on the spot.
I blink away tears. I don’t know why. Dying is sad, I guess, yeah, but this is my fault. This is all my fault. That’s why. I look around at the death and destruction and the missing members of my family and I can’t help but think that this is all my fault.
Froggy. I should’ve killed that son of a bitch the moment I saw him.
“Jack,” Klein says. His voice is loud; it has to be because a building is roaring with flames and caving in on itself and beyond that a child is screaming out for his mother and a man dies shrieking Marian! But when Klein talks I barely hear him. My ears are somewhere else, reaching out across all the destruction, searching for a voice I recognize or scream or a whimper.
But deep down I know none of them would scream or whimper, not even Herb. They’re all strong. They’re all alive.
I flip the man at my feet over. His eyes are open, but he’s not seeing anything. This unnerves me. I don’t stop or pull away. I can’t. All I have is a gun with one bullet and a doctor who has the secrets of the universe in his messenger bag. I grab the knife handle. It is slick with the man’s blood. I pull it free, feeling like King Arthur excavating Excalibur. It’s only after the blade comes out do I realize I am screaming. The man’s blood spurts from his wound, misting my face, making me look like a crazy bastard.