Crowded Yet Desolate: A Zombie Novel

by Lee Dunter

  When no one moved, Diesel took a step forward, saying “Open the fuckin’ door!”

  Ryan winced at the powerful voice. He turned and placed his hand on the door. It felt cool from the rain. He unlocked it and pushed it open, but only slightly.

  Cam’s courage broke. “Come on, man, you can’t send us out there like this! We have no weapons, and it’s getting dark out. It’s fucking murder!”

  “Boy, were you upstairs just now?” Ruben said in a deep, southern accent. “You think we give a goddamn about watching you bitches die? Hells, no.”

  “Oh, yes, but they deserved to die,” Albert chimed in a sycophantic tone, giving a weak smile. “That’s what they get for not following your orders. But we’re not causing any trouble! We’re just asking for a little mercy.”

  “Mercy?” Diesel asked. “You fuckin’ kidding me? You think we was shown mercy? Look around. ain’t no mercy here.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Ryan said, holding his hands up to shoulder height in surrender. As wind whistled through the door and blew his shirt against his back, a remind of the crack in between the doors, he took a step forward. “Mercy is for the weak. Stupid of us to ask. But what about the baby? Do you really want the baby’s death on your hands?”

  This stumped them. They looked at each other, brows wrinkled and deep confusion on their faces, this thought game threatening to blow their eyes from their head. As the two men considered their options, their mouths dropped wide open, Ryan heard the zombies shuffling closer to the building, attracted to the commotion within. Their moans and growls grew louder in their excitement.

  Finally Reuben spoke. “Well, nah, but who the hell is going to look after it? We sure as hell can’t.”

  “Let the girls do it,” Cam suggested.

  “I don’t think that’s gonna work out,” Ruben said, smiling.

  “Might I offer a suggestion,” Albert said, stepping forward timidly. Ruben raised his rifle, and Albert stepped back to his original position. “Now of course, I only have your best interest in mind. I don’t know if you recognize my good friend here.” He placed a hand on Kyle. “But he’s only got one hand. What harm can he pose to anyone? He can’t fight. Let him stay here till morning and take care of the baby.”

  They carefully eyed Kyle, suspicious of a trick. Kyle held still under their gaze, not even blinking. Ryan felt another gust of wind through the crack in the door, and it creaked as it slammed shut and then ricocheted open again. The breeze, though warm, gave Ryan the chills.

  Cam, who had calmed himself, made a bold move. “He’s a priest,” Cam said. “You don’t want a dead baby and a dead pastor on your record before God on judgment day.”

  Diesel laughed. “If that just isn’t the lowest fucking blow, kid. I see what’s going on here. A priest, eh? Who gives rat a fuck?” He laughed again.

  Dammit, Cam! Ryan thought. Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?

  Diesel continued: “You think I give a shit about any of this? There ain’t no fucking God. Just look around you! Where is He? I don’t do see no fucking Christ!”

  Ruben did not share his partner’s views. He pulled a silver crucifix from under his shirt and kissed it. “Forgive him father. He knows not what he sayin’.”

  Ryan tweaked his head. Holy shit, that just happened.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Diezel said in a mocking tone. “You goin’ on with that shit again?”

  “Nah, brother. We might should listen to these folks. That ain’t some shit I want written in my book. Been enough murderin’ and rapin’ as is. I was real careful not to touch any of them women. And you too! Whether not you say you believe or not, you listened to me and kept your distance from them ladies. And God done rewarded us for that. You saw what happened to the rest of them! God killed them. Every single one of ‘em, he did. And He’s gonna kill them upstairs too when they done. Might not be such a bad idea to have God’s man around!”

  “Are you fucking insane? You know damn well if we go back up in there with these fools, they’ll waste the both of us.”

  “Better them than the Almighty pourin’ his fury on us!”

  “We’ve been over this before, now,” Diesel said, almost patiently, like talking to a child. “There ain’t no fucking God. Look ‘round you. If there was a God, would he let this happen to us. And even if there was a God, he ain’t gonna take requests from the likes of me. Maybe before all this shit went down, but this mother fucking disease done changed all of us.”

  “No, no, no,” Kyle said, shaking his head emphatically. “That’s where you’re wrong. This didn’t change anyone. This showed us who we really are.” Confused, Diesel looked at him, and Kyle continued. “When the lights are out and the door is shut, with no one else watching, that’s who you really are. We now live in a world that’s without the constraint of the law or the threat of imprisonment and punishment. Essentially, the door is always shut . . . ” He had been looking down at the ground, but now he looked up at Diesel and Ruben, his expression a mixture of indignation and pity. “This is who you really are deep down. The outbreak didn’t change you. It just brought out your true character.”

  Ruben grasped the meaning first. A look of horror spread over his face, and his body trembled with contrition. When Diesel grasped it, he snarled, his eyes lighting with fury. His gun slowly inched its way towards Kyle’s head. “Why you little mother fucker! I’m takin’ your other hand for all that! You don’t know shit about what I’ve been through!”

  Ruben placed his hand on the top of Diesel’s gun and lowered it with his superior strength. “No, Diesel,” he said. “They right. We’ve been fuckin’ monsters. Look at us.” He lowered his rifle to his side, keeping it in his right hand, and with his left, he wiped tears from his face. “It ain’t too late, man.”

  “Fine. You ready to go see yo God then? I kill all of your mother fuckers. Make yo peace with no one, bitches.”

  Diesel turned on Ruben, who made no effort to protect himself. He raised his rifle, and Ryan, knowing this was the opportunity they needed, lunged forward and rammed Diesel in the side, throwing all his weight into the motion. Diesel stumbled to the side and dropped the gun. It slid across the tile. Ryan was prepared to dive for it, but Diesel turned away from it and stood toe-to-toe with Ryan. He had no time to prepare himself; Diesel swung his fist wide, and Ryan barely ducked below it, the force of the swing brushing the hair at the top of Ryan’s head. Instinctively, Ryan did what would harm Diesel the most: he reached forward and grabbed Diesel’s testicles through the stained, gray sweatpants. Diesel screeched like a twelve-year-old choirboy and began pounding the top of Ryan’s head. Ryan’s vision blackened, and his head began to swim. But he took the abuse, tightening his grip and pulling harder with a twisting motion. The flesh in crushing in his hands, his hand moved further away from Diesel’s leg, until Diesel, passing out from the pain, collapsed on Ryan. They fell to the ground. Within seconds, Joe and Cam had rolled the massive body to the side. Ryan refused Cam’s hand, choosing to remain on the ground, waiting till the thudding in his head dulled.

  Cam picked up Diesel’s gun and then hit a confused and dazed Ruben in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious. Joe picked up Ruben’s gun.

  The moment Ryan stood, a scream pierced through the night like a dinner bell. The four of them whirled towards the noise, stared down at Diesel, and cringed in disgust. He was rolling side to side on his back, cupping his crotch with both hands, blood beginning to stain they gray of his sweatpants.

  “What do we do with him?” Cam asked, looking away.

  “Leave him,” Joe said, and Ryan knew better than to object.

  Suddenly, a zombie’s hand came through the crack of the front door, then an arm and a head–the force combined with the wind slamming the door against the wall.

  “Well, shit,” Joe said. “I almost forgot about them mother fuckers.”

  The zombie was almost seven feet tall. As it came in, it halted its prog
ress by hitting its head against the top of the doorframe, which allowed Kyle, who was standing close to the door, time to jump out of its reach.

  Joe fired and pierced the zombie in the chest. It staggered back outside, letting out an angry screech. The second bullet silenced it. After the giant fell, beyond it the horde became visible.

  “There’ll be more,” Ryan warned.

  “Right,” Cam said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We can’t leave Molly and Mrs. Bennet here,” Ryan protested.

  Cam collected himself. “Ya, ya. You’re right. But what are we gonna do?”

  “Shoot!” Joe yelled.

  Their shots lit up the hallway, the smell of burnt smoke mixing withe the stench of the dead as they clambered through the door. They ripped and pushed each other to be the first inside. Ryan knew their only hope was to funnel the large mass of enemies through this narrow entrance, just like the Greeks holding the Persians on Thermopylae.

  Joe instructed Cam over the noise. “Fucking shoot slower, Cam!”

  “How long do we have?” Ryan asked.

  Joe gunned down the last zombie in the close proximity, and then he turned to Ryan. “Not long enough. Get your ass in gear and go.”

  Ryan, Albert, and Kyle went for the stairs. At the top, Kyle lay Reginald on the ground, off to the side. His cries sharpened without physical touch.

  “I’m sorry little buddy,” Kyle whispered. “You’re just going to have to wait there for a while.” He muttered a quick and quiet prayer, which oddly reminded Ryan of his own father’s mealtime prayers, although the words were much different.

  Albert had grabbed knives from the two men downstairs, and he handed one to Ryan. He studied the other in his hand, and then gave it to Kyle. “Even with only one hand you outweigh me by sixty pounds.”

  Kyle took it, his expression blank. The three men looked at each other, sweat already streaming down their faces. Ryan felt nothing but anxious energy and a cool shudder down his spine. He longed for the cold hate, the stone anger, but it did not come.

  “You ready?” Ryan asked.

  “No,” Kyle answered.

  “Good. I’ll get Molly. You two get Mrs. Bennet. And guys, be careful.”

  Ryan ran down the hall, unconcerned about the clatter his feet made against the tile. His only concern was Molly. Above all the others, he could not bear to see her die. By the time he reached the classroom, his hand gripping the knife had turned purple. Ryan carefully peered through the glass: Rick and Molly were inside, Rick shirtless and pant-less, proudly sporting his patriotic red, white, and blue boxers; Molly crouched in the corner, one of her eyes bruised and swelling, her lip gashed–nothing too serious had yet happened.

  Rick was too preoccupied with fornication to take necessary precautions: his gun was disregarded at the door, and he hadn’t noticed–or chose to ignore–the commotion downstairs. Ryan continued to watch as Rick, smiling and rubbing his round, hairy stomach, returned to Molly. If you touch her one more time I swear to God I’ll kill you. Ryan opened the door, pausing every time it creaked. Within moments, Molly looked his way, saw Ryan, and dashed her eyes in a different direction. Ryan placed the knife between his teeth, and crept forward, crouching and silent. The room was dark. The rain had picked up again, banging against the window towards which Ryan was walking.

  “All right, bitch, time to take this here cock, like the little slut you are. If you’re good enough, I might let you live for round two.”

  Ryan nodded, and Molly caught on. “Oh, Oh yes, please let me have it. I want to rock your fucking world.”

  Ryan approached.

  She removed her shirt, revealing a black bra and cleavage. Ryan could have broken through the wall with a full marching band, and Rick still wouldn’t notice him.

  “Oooh baby, that’s more like it. I’m a tell you a secret, honey.” He pulled down his boxers revealing his erect penis. Ryan straightened, coming out of his crouch, and walked quietly towards him. The room felt cold, his hand heavy as stone.

  “Tell me, daddy.”

  Ryan was almost on him.

  “I’ve been waiting to fuck the prettiest little thing I could find. The others had their way with the garbage out there. But baby, you I could make my princess.”

  From behind, Ryan grabbed Rick’s forehead, digging his fingernails in, and pressed the knife to his throat. Rick elbowed Ryan in the gut, and as Ryan stumbled back, gasping for air, the knife made a thin slice across Rick’s throat. Blood sprayed. Rick pressed his hand to the slice, but the wound was unimpressed; the dark red spilled through his fingers onto the floor. He turned towards Ryan, intent on attack, but then staggered from the blood loss, and instead of attacking he leaned on Ryan for support. He looked at Ryan with intense fear–eyes, mouth, and cheeks twitching, but it was clear he had not yet resigned hope. Molly came up to them and pushed Rick with a grunt, sending Rick to the ground. Ryan watched while she stooped and took up the knife, ran at Rick, and drove the knife into his chest. As the knife disappeared behind a layer of fat, he fell to the ground for the last time, making an odd liquid coughing sound, creating a fresh stream of blood, and then lay still. Standing over him, Molly spit on his face. She opened and closed her mouth, her lips trembling, trying to create a last insult, but all she could manage was the fish-like up-and-down motion of her lips.

  In the lasting second that Rick died, that Molly stood over him, her face not yet softened back to itself, Ryan watched her and knew that, like her, he was not a killer, not meant to be the one holding the knife, and as he dropped the knife to the ground Molly dropped her bravado act.

  He came up behind her and took one of her hands in his own. “We need to go Molly. It isn’t safe here anymore.”

  After lingering a moment, she turned to him. Even through the black eye, swollen cheeks, cut lip, and tangled hair, her eyes guided him to a place where there were no zombies, where there was no death and pain, where he wasn’t a widower. She began to sob.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said. “He was going to . . . he was going to . . . thank you.”

  Ryan hugged her. “Its gonna be okay.” And he believed it. Despite not wanting to, he gently pushed her away from their embrace and looked her in the eyes. “But we need to go now, okay? Can you do that?” She wiped away the tears and nodded. “Okay, now. Follow me.”

  He grabbed her hand, soft and gentle, like an adult grabbing a lost child’s, and together they went to the door. Ryan paused to grab Rick’s rifle, and he slung it over his shoulder as they stepped out and went to the stairs. Ryan had to shake his head repeatedly, for he believed he was seeing a stress-induced mirage: where there should be three figures, he saw only two. Albert held Reginald and Mrs. Bennet stood by them. He blinked rapidly to bring forth the lost apparition, but it would not come, and as Ryan neared them, Albert would not meet his eyes.

  “Where’s Kyle?” Ryan asked, knowing the answer. He changed the question. “What happened?”

  Marge turned away, letting out a fragmented exhale. Albert sniffled and, keeping his head down, said, “He didn’t make it. He pushed me out of the way, and–and he was stabbed.” Ryan felt his throat tighten. “It was a quick death, Ryan.”

  Ryan was struck dumb. As if that makes me feel better.

  “This is all my fault,” Marge said, turning back, broken down in tears.

  Ryan dammed his heart and mind and fought the flood of emotions he felt collecting, knowing there was no time for such things; emotions were frivolities when life was at stake.

  They sped down the stairs, Ryan in the lead, still holding Molly’s hand. When he was on the third stair, he let go of her hand and leaped into the darkness, his stomach entering a free-fall. He landed on someone, and for a moment he was afraid he had landed on a zombie, but the dark figure called out: “Whoa, Watch it.” It was Cam. He was taking a desk from the barricaded stairwell down the hall and placing it on a barricade he had constructed near the door. The barricade
was about shoulder high, constructed from a stack of desks, chairs, and a large table, and stood between Joe and the door. As Cam added the desk, a bullet, fired from Joe’s weapon, whizzed by his head and shattered a zombie’s nose. The dead body fell on a stack of other dead bodies, which were stacking up like a wall, creating a second barricade. The zombies’ path was hindered first by the wall of bodies and then the wall of school furniture. Another zombie managed to climb over his fallen brothers, and Joe took it out with two quick shots. Joe released the clip and stared into it, as if doing a math problem in his head.

  He replaced the clip, held the gun out to Ryan, and said, “Take this.” Ryan looked at him incredulously. “Go on, fucking take it.”

  “But why? We need to get out.”

  “I’m not leaving Roe’s body behind to become a feast for these bastards.”

  Albert interjected, a quizzical look on his face. “Wait, you’re not suggesting we take the body with us?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Joe said firmly.

  Cam’s gunshots rang in the background. He demanded to know why he was the only one firing.

  “Well, hold on now,” Albert said. “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. We’ve learned some things about the virus since you were gone.”

  Joe’s face darkened in an instant. “I don’t give a fuck. This doesn’t concern you.”

  Albert tightened his fists. His face looked like a balloon about to burst. He turned from Joe and went behind Ryan to whisper, “Ryan, remember how we considered that we all might be infected? Well, if that’s true then that damn body could change any minute. Do you really want that huge man changing while he’s strapped around one of our shoulders?”

  Ryan looked down the hall. The zombies were multiplying. Cam’s barricade was still untouched, but the zombies had demolished the human wall.

  “Unless you really want to stand here and bicker for the next five minutes,” Ryan said, “then we can’t fight about this right now. We’ll cross that road when we get there.” He turned to Joe. “Do what you have to do. We’ll wait for you as long as we can, but no promises.”