by Lee Dunter
Later that night, it rained again. What could be causing it to transfer so quickly? he thought, staring out the window, at the droplets of water falling onto the random patterns of the undead below, only visible by the brightness of the lightening strikes. No reasonable answer crossed his mind. Presently lighting struck close by, showing proof of the apocalypse below. It was the first time he had thought of the word. Ryan waited for the thunder, but it never followed. He had always heard that the longer the pause between lightening and the thunder, the farther away the lightening strike was. He wondered if this were true. But that puzzle wouldn’t be solved tonight, nor would the puzzle of the virus.
Ryan decided to try to sleep. He shut his eyes. The storm continued to beat against the window, and the cadence took him closer and closer. His body relaxed, and his mind cleared. He listened to the rain pounding against the building. Sleep was close. The noise grew louder and louder. It was too loud, unusually loud. He sat up, half-asleep. Three consecutive thuds sounded . . . it wasn’t the storm. He shot up and found Kyle already standing.
“You hear that?” Ryan asked.
Kyle nodded and whispered, “Sounds like someone is knocking.”
Albert and Cam were now up, and Molly was stirring. Ryan walked to her and woke her. “Molly you need to get up.” He moved her arm back and forth, and her eyes slowly began to open.
Five more thuds echoed and a faint voice whispered under the rain. Ryan tensed as fear shot through his body.
“I don’t like this one bit, captain,” Cam said.
“Should we check it out?” Kyle asked.
Ryan nodded, despite his numbing legs. “Let’s get the weapons first, then we’ll head down. Albert, go wake the Bennets.”
Albert nodded, his face as pale as when he had the fever.
“What about me?” Molly asked from the ground.
“Can you use a weapon?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know.” She yawned. “How hard can it be?”
“You stick with Albert, then.”
Ryan, Kyle, and Cam armed themselves and went to the stairs. As they descended, they hugged the wall, like spies in a movie.
“Who do you think it is?” Ryan asked at the bottom stair.
Cam said, “Bandits? A gang? Who fucking knows.”
“All right.” Ryan nodded quickly, his head trying to match the tempo of his heart. “Remember the glass is bulletproof, so we don’t have to let anyone inside. But we should at least see who it is.” The inaccuracy of the statement hit him as he realized that the glass was not invincible, and the building could certainly be burned. Not to mention if those outside had explosives, which were probably easy to acquire now, they could easily get in. He thought it better not to mention this, and the others seemed too preoccupied to worry about such things just yet.
The pounding on the door was incessant. Someone really wants in, Ryan thought. Ryan stepped into the hallway, and they walked towards the door in the almost pitch black hallway. The screaming began again, audible above the thundering rain. The glass doors offered their reflections as they approached, giving no clue as to who or what was outside, so Ryan tried to decipher the voice. It was male. Ryan caught the words help, die. A weave of lightning struck, and its luminous glow danced across the sky. Two figures stood outside, one leaning heavily on the other. Could that be?
Ryan quickened his pace to a sprint and reached the door before the others. As he neared, lightening struck again, and is light instantly revealed Joe and Roe outside the door. One of them was leaning on the other, holding his stomach, blood gushing. What the fuck is going on?
Cam and Kyle unlocked the door and threw it open. The twins hobbled inside. Cam and Ryan grabbed the injured twin, and, by the armpits and knees, heaved him up the stairs.
“Albert! Albert!” Kyle screamed as they went, so that seconds later at the top of the stairs Albert was there waiting for them.
Albert stormed away: “Bring him here.”
Albert led them into an empty classroom and slammed the door, leaving the majority of the group in the hall. They laid the injured twin down on the tile. Albert grabbed the bloody shirt and tried to rip it, but he wasn’t strong enough.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Albert snapped. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and pointed down. “Someone get this off of him!”
The healthy twin bent over, ripped it with one smooth motion, and handed it to Albert. As he did this, Albert pointed at him and asked, “Which one are you?”
“Joe,” he answered, barely above a whisper–the whisper looking strong enough to push him to the ground.
Albert began inspecting Roe. Ryan crouched behind him, staring over his shoulder with a taut, blank face. Roe’s body was soaked from the rain, and his skin looked cold and clammy. His face was white, and he moaned heavily from the trauma in his belly. The floor collected the blood that spilled from the gunshot wound.
Albert shook his head. “Jesus Christ. How long ago was this?”
Joe fumbled for words. “Oh, I, uh, ten, fifteen minutes.”
Albert poked and prodded. As he pressed just to the right of the wound, Roe’s arms and legs flailed, he screamed, and then fell unconscious.
“The bullet may have passed through the stomach. Damn it, I’m not a medical doctor, and I’m certainly no emergency surgeon. And even if I were, I don’t have any tools.” He turned to Joe. “I don’t see him living through this.”
“Are you telling me there’s nothing we can do to save him?” Ryan asked, a bit shaken by Albert’s lack of bedside manners. Albert, scared and drowning in blood, didn’t answer. Ryan stood, not knowing what to do but wanting to do something. He paced the room
Joe had been muttering, and his voice became louder. “They’re coming, coming. They know we’re here. They followed us. They had to.” Ryan stopped in front of him and looked at him gravely. “They’re fucking coming.”
Ryan grabbed Roe’s shoulders. “It’s Okay. The zombies won’t be able to get in.”
“Not fucking zombies!” Joe yelled, hysterical. “Forget the goddamn zombies. They didn’t shoot my fucking brother!”
Ryan looked down at Roe and then turned back to Joe. Trying to keep his voice calm, he said, “Who then? Who is coming?”
“Rick and the others! Bandits! A gang! I don’t know, whatever the fuck you want to call them! They’ve got to be close now. They knew where we are!”
“The doors are locked. They can’t get in.” His tone betrayed what he already knew. No one locked the doors after helping Roe in. It was too late. Ryan heard the voices from downstairs. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground, he barely noticing the pain that shot up his leg. He was reliving his worst nightmare again; his obsession would be the death of him.
The voices grew louder, hollers and whistles. “Roe, are you dead yet, mother fucker? We’re coming for your filthy twin next!”
Another voice, “Does something smell fishy in here? I think I smell some rotten pussy! Come on out you faggots, you can’t hide for long!” The voices were close now. Everyone froze. Was this really happening? Ryan thought. He heard the intruder’s footsteps on the stairs.
Chapter 20
The gun fell from Joe’s hands and hit the ground. With his twin gasping for breath on the floor, he would be no help against whatever evil was coming for them. The noises of the intruders grew louder, echoing across the hall, until Ryan heard the women shriek in terror. Ryan grabbed the gun with a second nature grip; with the lives of women and children at stake, the act needed no consideration. He swung open the door and stepped into the hall. He didn’t get far: a foot slammed into his stomach, knocking out his breath and doubling him over onto the ground. A choking sound escaped his lips as he struggled to find his breath.
His assailant roared, “Whoa there boy! Don’t you know that thing right there ain’t no toy. Rick, will you look at this asshole right here? I swear, if I didn’t know better I’d say he was trying to kil
l us!”
A small, angry looking man stepped forward. He wore large black boots and overalls, and he had rough skin, looking like he grew five-o’clock-shadow with practice. His head was too far forward and his back hunched too far back, as if it were trying to keep up with his belly. Ryan thought, from his view on the ground, the man looked like a menacing turtle.
“Why yes it does,” Rick said. He bent over with a grunt, picked up the gun up, and examined it, turning it over in his hands. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of my guns. Say, you didn’t steal this from me did you?” This would have been a rhetorical question if the man who said it knew the meaning of the word. After a strange silence, he spoke again. “Let’s not keep our company waiting.”
Rick and the other man grabbed Ryan’s arms and dragged him back into the room, the motion flaring a new wave of pain where he was kicked. As he was being pulled, Ryan lifted his head to measure the situation. There were five intruders: the two pulling him and three more pushing the remainder of the group into the room. He didn’t see Reginald. Two of the men were large and black, with builds and faces not to be opposed, and the other was a smaller-looking white man. Their smell was unbearable, even for someone who hadn’t showered in days. Ryan was deposited in the middle of the room. Terrified and wishing for bravery, he staggered to his feet and faced his assailants.
“Well, Bud, looks like the Good Lord has finally blessed us with some fine pieces of ass worth taking for ourselves,” Rick said, speaking to the man who had kicked Ryan.
“Right you are, Rick, right you are.” The three lackeys simply giggled and nodded, making Ryan briefly think of the hyenas from Lion King. Bud’s next move ripped that comparison from Ryan’s mind: Bud reached forward and cupped Molly’s left breast, giving it a hard squeeze as she turned her head, eyes clenched, trying to stop the tears. As he continued to squeeze and fondle the soft tissue between his fingers, the tears came anyway. And with that, this simple act, Ryan was taken back to when he lay on the floor and plotted to kill Albert, taken back to when his heart hardened and his soul went cold–taken back to a tragic night as a small child full of fear. Ryan jumped on the man’s back and brought his fists down on Bud’s face again and again, splattering blood from his nose and lips, and he felt the warmth stain his hands and heard the man’s cries of pain and brought his fists down and down again, ignoring the pain it brought to his own hands.
“Get him off of me!” Bud screamed, unsuccessfully blocking Ryan’s downpour of fists. With two hands, Rick managed to rip away Ryan, who landed in a crouched position, and Rick kicked him in the face with his steal toe boots. The hot pain brought back rational thought, and he immediately regretted his rash decision. He was lucky, though: an inch to the right and he would have a broken nose, and an inch lower, he would have broken teeth.
“You son of a bitch!” Bud yelled, picking up his gun as he stood. He walked to Ryan, lingered there for a moment, staring Ryan down, and then he moved to Roe. He pointed the gun at Roe’s head, and his eyes wandered to Joe. “Just finishing what I started. You understand, don’t ya?” His smile was dark and large, revealing more teeth than a normal smile should. He was much larger than Rick, so when lightening struck, promptly followed by a deafening bout of thunder, his shadow covered the entirety of Roe’s body. The sound of the gunshot chased the thunder like strong whisky. Screaming, Joe fell to his knees as he watched his twin die.
This can’t be happening.
As Bud joined ranks, nothing was enough to convince Ryan that this was really happening: not the pain in his face, not the sight of these men, not the metallic stench of blood. All were just imagined horrors in a dream that would soon fade. But the scene wasn’t disappearing or shifting in a cloud of mist, as dreams often do, and Ryan had to face that this was all real, he was in shock. Now what am I going to do about it?
Ryan stood, holding his swelling face, and spoke over his fattening lip. “What do you want from us?”
“Well, that all depends what you’re willing to give, now don’t it,” Rick said.
“You fucking son-of-a-bitch I’m going to kill you,” Joe screamed on all fours. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will rip your fucking eyeballs from their sockets. I’ll–”
“Quiet!” Bud screeched. Joe wisely did. “You had your chance to join us, but you thought it better to be little shithead! I told you it would end badly, didn’t I?”
“He’s right, Joe,” Rick said calmly. “I thought our past would give us a cause to fight together. But I guess not. So shut the fuck up, or you’ll end up just like Roe.” Joe stood, staring into his eyes, but he took no action. “There. That’s better.”
Despite whatever history, most likely dark and illegal, the twins had with this group, Ryan knew that he understood Joe better than they did. Joe was not submitting–he was waiting.
“We don’t need any blood shed, now. Do we?” Rick continued. “We can all get along. Isn’t that right, princess?” He winked at Molly. “I’ll treat you real nice.” Then he spun in a single circle, a stupid grin on his lips, his arms held out wide. “I like the place you got here. You’ve kept it pretty nice for us. Show me where to sign, miss realtor.”
“You can’t just take it from us!” Don yelled. “That’s theft!”
“And who the fuck is going to stop us?” Bud laughed. “You, you little weasel?” He cocked a thumb at the larger of the black men and then pointed at Don. The black man stepped forward to intimidate the former politician, pressing up against him and pushing him back with the size of his body. Don stumbled to the ground, landing in a seated position.
“At’s right fuck-face. Do somethin’. I dare ya.”
Mr. Bennet kept his head down, wisely humiliated.
Bud smiled his creepy smile. “And of course I think these pretty little ladies will be staying with us too.”
Over my dead body, Ryan thought.
The same black man went to Marge. With one hand he massaged her breast, and with the other he squeezed her ass. “Dis yo wife right here? She got a mighty fine ass, yes sir! Damn bitch, how u keepin’ it so tight at yo age?” Unlike Molly, Marge had no delay between touch and tears. But she took the abuse without rebellion. What other option did she have? The man then placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed down, forcing her onto her knees. He unbuckled his belt. “I bet you never did seen one as big as dis. You in fo’ a real treat.”
Don had been averting his eyes, but at this he looked up, brow creased, eyes narrowed with fury. Ryan had never seen such a ferocious look, especially not on Don. He lunged forward and, arching his arm back, and punched the man in the face. The knuckles in his hands splintered against the large cheekbones with an audible crack. Ryan winced at the noise, but the shattering didn’t finish Don. He used the other hand for the next blow, striking the throat, and the man stumbled backwards. Don grabbed the back of the other’s head and slammed his knee into his face. The man staggered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell unconscious, his head cracking against the tile. His legs jerked twice, his body going limp.
Don smiled in victory. He looked around for appraisal, and he received it, from the wrong group, in the form of a gunshot. The bullet pierced his stomach, and as the dark red stain began spreading out on his shirt, he gripped at the spot with cupped hands and looked down at his wound, bewildered. He made an exasperated chuckle, then looked up at his wife.
“I love you, Marge. I never did say that enough.” His words were choked out with blood. He fell down, smacking the tile face first. He was not dead, still breathing, but gurgling more blood with each breath he took. Mrs. Bennet screamed.
Ryan’s head exploded with so much regret that it felt like there were no thoughts–condemning voices of white noise.
“Stop!” Molly screamed through tears. “That’s enough. Please!”
“I knew you would come around,” Rick said. “That’s fine, we can stop here if you choose. The option was there all along.”
“Now get the fuck out of our building!” Bud screamed.
Chapter 21
The heavy rain had turned to a light mist, and the sun was fading; the sky was dark, the school was dark, the yard was dark, yet enough light persisted to see the horrors through the glittering mist. Zombies littered the front lawn, their shoes, sandals, and bare feet sloshing through the mud that cascaded to the streets. Many were fresh, a surprising number naked. The sight frightened Ryan, so he turned back to the two large men, who were both armed with rifles which they held with command. He had gathered that their names were Diesel and Ruben and that they had the intelligence of budding tadpoles.
Ryan looked at his friends. Kyle cradled Reginald in his arms while Joe was slipped into hysteria. It seemed, since they were unarmed, that their only chance was to do as they were told, to walk out the front and never return. But Ryan knew this plan was false hope. They would die before making it across the yard, nevertheless to another safe house. And they couldn’t leave Marge and Molly behind to suffer through these men’s’ evil fantasies.
Diesel and Ruben had enough sense to keep their distance behind the group, ushering them towards the exit with their weapons and understood power. “All right, no fuckin’ funny business,” Diesel said. “We ain’t takin’ shit from ya’ll. Now go on, open the door.” He gestured opening a door as if they needed instruction.
