“Go!” Abby shouts. The jovial quality to her voice is now gone. I think she’s woken up…truly woken up and realized this isn’t some dream or fantasy we are living it. This is real life. It’s a harsh realization, one I still have trouble coming to. But you have to. You have to wake up. It doesn’t get easier; the fear is always there, deep in your psyche, like it is in mine right now.
We aren’t going forward so I reach down and shift to reverse. My hands slip on the steering wheel and the gearshift. I’m not trembling anymore. Now, I’m vibrating.
Herb says, “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll be b-brave. Just like you told me to, Jacky. I’ll be brave.”
I turn, my face a mask of horror, as I see Herb raise the pistol we gave him for protection. The zombie on his window’s side has morphed into three more. They are snapping their teeth and clawing against the glass.
“Herb, no!” I shout, reaching out to grab the gun from him, but it’s too late.
The pistol booms and inside the confined space of the Ford, it sounds like the bombs that went off in last night’s dream. I think my ears are bleeding. I jam my eyes closed and as I open them, I see one of the zombies’ faces explode into a mess of red and black goo and the twinkling cascade of broken glass.
My ears are ringing, not bleeding — I reach up and swipe a finger in my ear canal, almost involuntarily — yet I can still hear the zombies’ groans of death from the outside. It, along with the stench of a thousand rotting corpses, hits me. Sucker punches me, in fact.
Now, Herb is screaming because what looks like forty cracked and twisted arms shoot into the Ford’s cabin. Some of the bone shows through, a grim yellow, and all of the skin is rotted, pockmarked and festering with sores and pus. Herb pushes away as far as he can, but he’s a big man and he doesn’t get far. I’m reaching out to him and grabbing him. With all of my might, I yank.
Zombie fingers grip at his sleeve.
I see Norm lean over us, his movement a blur, and his gun registers shots that never seem to end. The zombies leaning into the shattered window are replaced with different zombies. Their faces and skin and smell are no different. They’re all horrible, nightmarish. Herb manages to crawl over the back seat, and over Darlene and Abby’s screaming and yelling, one of them says, “Ow!” and Herb disappears into the trunk, his legs sticking up, boots scraping the Ford’s ceiling.
I have my own gun in hand, but now I pick up Herb’s, and I’m shaking so bad. Two guns are better than one. I’m bound to hit something.
I pump lead into the tide of zombie faces, not even missing one time, actually. My eardrums are shot. My eyes are blinded by the flashes from the muzzle, but I squeeze the triggers until the car’s stink is replaced with the smell of gun smoke and until I see daylight through the fallen bodies. It’s not much daylight — just a hint, really. Enough to make me drop the guns on the front seat and let Norm and Abby take over shooting duties.
Faintly, I see Darlene shift in the back and grab Herb, shake him, but that’s all I see, and all the time I can spare to give up. She’s all right. Herb’s all right. No time to worry now. The dense forest of walking carcasses begins to clear in front of us. There are still zombies on our left. They bump and smack the sides of the SUV, rocking it and causing the shocks to groan.
I stomp on the gas.
They are so packed on the side, one zombie’s arm rips off with the motion of the Ford. I almost throw up looking at it, I swear to God. The fingers still wriggle and a white knob of bone juts out, shiny with blood, both red and black.
I look away and slap it on to the floor, feeling like I’m in dire need of a shower.
“Watch out!” Abby screams.
Her and Norm have been thrown back against the seats. Abby points ahead. She’s pointing at more zombies. I grip the wheel tighter. I have momentum. I have speed. I’m coming at them like a bowling ball and they’re the lone pins. Their eyes flicker with yellow, but it’s like they never see me coming. Their mouths hang slack-jawed as the Ford smacks into them. It’s about four zombies. I didn’t get a good look at their clothes or features, and quite frankly, I don’t care. All that’s left of them are blackish-red smears on my cracked windshield.
29
The engine is so loud. Still, I hear Herb’s cries over the growling. Norm crawls into the front seat.
“You okay?” he asks. “Everyone okay back there?”
Three weak yeses come from behind me.
“You okay, little bro?”
I nod, never looking at him. I’ll be honest. I’m too afraid to take my eyes off of the road now. Too afraid another pack will jump out from the trees and trap us again. That was too close. Way too close. But I guess it always is, isn’t it?
“I was sure you were going to turn tail or at least do something stupid like open the door and make a run for it,” Norm says. He then bends down and picks up the guns. He examines Herb’s closely, breathes on the chrome, fogging it up and wipes it on his shirt. “Glad you didn’t. Very brave move.”
“Thanks,” I say.
The SUV is traveling at about sixty on a road where we should probably only go forty to forty-five. The airfield is in sight. I can’t hold back now, but I’m aware of the slapping sound of something under our back left tire. I don’t even want to think of what body part is stuck in our wheel ruts.
Darlene’s blonde head bobs in the rearview mirror. I realize I’m still gripping the wheel tight because my palms are burning. I want nothing more than to pull off to the side of the road, let go of this steering wheel, and go back and comfort her and Herb.
But I can’t.
The world hangs in the balance.
Norm reloads the pistols, holsters Herb’s, and puts mine in the middle console. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given Herb a gun,” he says to me in a quiet voice.
Outside of the windows, the fields and trees are going by in a blur. I pick up speed, but I still won’t take my eyes off of the road, not fully. I’ll glance here and there, or look out of the corner of my eye.
“No, it was fine,” I say.
“I don’t know,” Norm says, running his finger along the black muck on the edge of the broken window.
“If it wasn’t for Herb, we’d still be trapped,” I say. And it’s true. If it wasn’t for Herb, I would’ve never had to start shooting the zombies and they would’ve never cleared the road enough for me to drive forward. It was a perfect distraction. A very dangerous distraction, true, but still perfect.
“I don’t know,” Norm says, his voice is playful. I’m expecting a joke and this is not the time. It’s his way of coping with things, with tragedy. It tells me he’s actually nervous of what we’ll find at the airfield.
We pass a sign that says “Butain Airport, a Proud Partner of BSU.”
“It’s fine,” I say to Norm, filling the silence.
“I’d give that whole ordeal two thumbs down,” he says.
Now I have to turn my head because Norm has something in his hand. I can’t help myself, either as I see it. I burst out laughing. Norm has to drop what he’s holding and grip the wheel because I’m busting a gut.
“Jesus Christ!” Abby shouts. “You two are so immature!”
I get control of myself and just as the funnies pass over me and I notice the car veering over the now arbitrary, double yellow line, Norm takes the zombie arm and moves the thumbs down into an erect middle finger.
“Immature that,” Norm says, and busts out laughing.
Abby scoffs. I see, despite all of this, she’s smiling. That’s what I love about these people — my family. We can be inches — no, centimeters — away from death and still crack jokes immediately after we survive. I know there’s a time and a place for humor and this is probably not the time with Herb in the back still sniffling and our blood pressures still spiked, but I have to say I also think this is a perfect time for that.
I can see why Norm uses humor as a way to cope. For a moment, I forget all about the snarling zombie
faces, the way Klein betrayed us, all the people I left dead in Washington no more than forty-eight hours ago, and the fact that whether or not the world ends depends on our success.
Norm wipes his streaming eyes with the back of his hands. “I’m just kidding,” he says, then he raises his voice and says, “You hear that, Herb? You saved the day!”
“I-I did?” Herb’s voice answers back.
“You did, Herb,” I say. “Thank you!”
In the rearview, Herb pokes his head up from the back, smiling. His eyes are red and puffy from crying. Darlene ruffles his small afro and he smiles wider. “You’re welcome, Jacky. Anything for you guys. I love you guys sooooo much!” He kisses both hands and blows them toward the front of the SUV like he’s a famous person receiving some award or something. I can’t help but smile and shake my head.
We turn into the airfield’s parking lot. There are a few cars. All of them are sitting on flats, their glasses covered in debris from the harsh storm a few hours ago. All of them except one car, and this car is parked crookedly near the front doors, the passenger’s side hanging open.
All the good humor goes out of me, replaced with that usual sinking feeling of fright. It’s as if a cinderblock is tied around both of my ankles while my hands are cuffed behind my back and my mouth is duct taped and somebody tosses me into the deepest part of the ocean so I don’t die while I’m at the bottom…I die on the way down.
That’s how I feel. That’s probably how we all feel. But we file out of the SUV anyway — because we have to.
30
Herb doesn’t act as scared as normal. For this, I am grateful. But not so much for him trying to lead the pack into the heart of the unknown.
The Butain Airfield is nothing like an airport whatsoever. It’s just two big hangars, a runway, a few other smaller buildings clustered off to our left and right, and the main part in front of us. The doors were once barricaded, but have now been broken through. From the looks of it, it must’ve happened awhile ago. Seeing the cracked glass and the tipped barricades and the crookedly parked cars brings goosebumps up my arms. I still can’t comprehend this way of life where scenes like this are the norm.
Herb sees the open door up the walkway, the top part of its glass completely gone, swinging and banging. There’s a slight breeze, but that’s not why the door’s open, I think. It’s open because we’ve just missed Klein.
I reach out and grab Herb. I’m not rough or anything. He jumps at my touch and kind of seems to melt right there on the spot. So much for bravery. I can’t blame the big guy. It’s hard to be brave — I’ll be the first to admit that.
“Slink back,” I say to Herb.
He frowns, but I think I see relief in his eyes.
“Let Norm and me go first,” I say. “Make sure it’s safe.”
“Okay, Jacky,” Herb says.
“You got our back, right, Herb?” Abby asks, and Herb nods furiously. The whole time, both Darlene and Norm are looking quite squeamish. I think it’s the silence of the place. This large airfield where a million noises should be sounding — jet engines, trucks beeping while they back up, car engines and their doors opening and closing, people clamoring. But instead of that, there’s nothing. Not even the distant chirp of a bird. To be totally honest, it is quite unnerving. Most things in this dead world are.
Zombies. That’s what really gets me, I think. We saw a pack not even half a mile up the road. In a sense, and I feel my heartbeat get faster as I think this, we are racing against two clocks: Klein and his end of the world scheme, and the swarm of zombies just down the road who’ll undoubtedly come here as soon as the bullets and planes start flying.
If it comes to that, Jack, I think.
Norm has both hands on his pistol and he follows me to the front door. I catch eyes with Darlene then she turns her head to make sure we’re still safe from all sides. Abby goes around the side of the building, her gun held low.
I peer into the broken glass. All I see are shadows and flipped waiting area furniture. There’s a front desk and poles where ropes probably once hung separating the lobby from the boarding area. There’s a metal detector and a conveyor belt, both lit by the faint, morning sunshine streaming in through the patched and barricaded window cracks.
It’s still too quiet.
I look back to Norm and nod my head. He nods back, and we head into the airport’s main building, guns in our hands, hearts in our stomachs.
31
As we are walking through the hallways, I’m again reminded of how eerie it all is. The desolate towns and deserted streets are one thing, but an airport? Those are never deserted. No matter what airport I’ve been in, there were always way too many Starbucks and way more people. It really is a shock to the system.
We go through the security checkpoint without much trouble, obviously. This is probably because the corpse of a security man is up against the wall, old blood smeared on the plaster, rib bones protruding from the shredded clothing. The shirt was once blue, but now it’s a dingy reddish-navy.
I realize, as I’m passing this corpse, looking the chewed face up and down, that my footsteps are the only ones echoing. Everyone else has stopped.
I turn around and see them huddled together, glaring at the dead security guard. Herb is the biggest of them all yet he slinks low enough to be at Abby’s height, and she’s pretty short.
“Come on,” I say.
“Jack — ” Darlene says.
“What?”
“Maybe we should stick together,” she says.
I shake my head. Not at her but at myself. I look back to the security guard. It’s weird, but I notice it doesn’t really affect me, this dead man, this body stripped of its meat now all but a husk of matted blood and chewed bones. This isn’t good. I’ve become desensitized, I’ve become the video game character you play when you’re not afraid to die because if you die, the game just restarts. Well, life’s not a game. It doesn’t restart. You don’t get a second chance.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
The front desk’s computers stare at us with dead screens. They might be dead and most of the world might be dead with them, but we aren’t. I hug Darlene.
No, we aren’t.
32
“He’s probably waiting in the shadows to jump us,” Norm says.
Herb gasps.
Darlene and I part.
“He’s probably got his piece pointed at us right now, just waiting to pull the trigger,” Norm says. “And you two are hugging. Come. On.” His eyes scan the shadowy building, but it’s so big and some of the shadows are so dark, it’s almost impossible to know exactly what lurks in them — Klein or some other kind of monster.
“No,” Herb says, shaking his head. “No, Norm.” His voice has a tinge of finality to it, as if to say there’s no arguing his point. “Doc Klein would never ever do that. He’s a good man. He’s not no killer like Butch and Spike.”
“I wouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Norm says.
“What chickens? I got no chickens, Norm,” Herb says.
“I mean, Klein held a gun to Father M — ” Norm says as Abby elbows him in the ribs, causing an oomph to escape from his mouth instead of the rest of that sentence.
“Shut it,” Abby says.
I give my older brother a nod. Let Herb be Herb. He knows this world is bad. He put up with Eden for God knows how long.
“I’m just saying — ” Norm says, but is cut off again. This time, by a gunshot and it doesn’t come from inside of the building. It comes from beyond it, past the dirty glass overlooking the tarmac. Muffled, but oh so loud. I jump and so does everyone else. Darlene instinctively brings her body closer to me.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Reluctantly, they follow me.
33
Three figures on the horizon, backlit by a blistering sunrise. One of the figures is unmistakably Doctor Klein, the other Father Michael, and the other one is not someone I know. I’
m thinking it’s George or maybe an unlucky looter.
I’m running through corridors filled with tipped luggage carriers and downed, overspilled trashcans.
“There!” Norm shouts. He’s right by my side. The others lag a little behind. Norm’s footsteps are heavy and wall-shaking. Norm points through a hole in the window panes. The only problem is we are now about a story up. It wouldn’t be an easy drop at all. I stop short at the shards of glass, barely registering the blood dried to the jagged teeth sticking out of the frame and doing the same to the bodies on the pavement below. There’s two of them, that’s all I’m aware of.
“Gotta be another way,” I hear Abby say behind me. She gasps for breath. The injury has done more than just take her left hand, it’s also taken all of her endurance.
“No time,” Norm shouts. “Look he’s going to kill him!”
I won’t lie. I expected Norm to be cut off by the sound of a gunshot and the squirming man about three-hundred feet away from us to stop his squirming. But that’s not the case.
I get to the edge of the window and look down below. There’s a tipped ladder just beneath the building’s shadows. I swallow harshly and my throat makes this dry clicking noise I hate. It burns a little too because I know what I have to do, and God, I hate that I have to do it. But it’s the only way.
I take a step. Now my right foot is hovering over nothing. The two bodies below me aren’t moving. Besides, I’ve fallen off of higher things in my lifetime. Once, I fell out of my grandma’s apple tree and nearly broke my arm — no, just kidding. I’m talking about the time I tackled Pat Huber off of the Woodhaven Rec Center to save the rest of my group’s lives. That was about three stories and the only thing I had to break my fall was a few shrubs and the soft middle and bony chest of the elder Huber. It was not a soft landing and my ribs still ache when the weather turns sour. Just thinking about taking this plunge has already got them flaring up.
Dead Coast: A Zombie Novel (Jack Zombie Book 4) Page 9
