by Brent Abell
“The knives,” he whispered and climbed back to his feet. His heart rate slowed, but the pain persisted in his chest. He felt like his ex-wife was sitting on him, trying to finish the job she had started when she took almost everything in the divorce.
Spike stopped and sniffed the air around him. Turning toward George, his nose lingered longer and he inhaled deeply. Lowering his head, he looked straight at George and growled. It sent a chill down his spine because it sounded more like the dog than the man who donned the fur to make kids in the park happy. He had once posed for pictures, given high-fives to children, and drawn a paw print in the autograph books of thousands of faceless kids every year.
Now, he stared at George with a primal fury coursing through his body and only animal hunger in his gut and mind. Slowly, he began to walk toward George.
Not waiting, George screamed an unholy cry from the well of his soul and charged at the shambling dog. Rushing the zombie, he grabbed its arm and swung it against the hedges. The zombie landed in the branches and stumbled. George took its arm and pulled back up to keep it on its feet. The zombie snapped at George’s arm, but he pulled it out of reach before the blackened teeth could latch on to him.
Snarling, the zombie pushed back. The force of the shove surprised George and he waved his arms around, frantically trying to keep his balance.
Damn, he’s strong, never fought one like this before.
Spike stomped and did the zombie walk at George again. Taking the few moments he had to catch his breath, George sized up the dog. The smell assaulted him and he felt close to losing the fight and vomiting. The decay mixed with the gore-stained and molded costume created a foul stench, reminding him of the dead in the house they had encountered on their travels in the last few days. Now, here he was trying not to be dinner for a mangy zombie man in a fur suit.
His heart hitched again in his chest and he summoned all the strength he had and grabbed the zombie by the big floppy ears. Swinging Spike around, he threw him against the back of the alcove they were in and he heard the fence rattle from the blow. The zombie stopped for a moment and appeared dazed.
Wrapping his hands around the large cartoon head, he slammed the zombie’s face into the knives protruding from the fence. The blades sank into its face and the points exited the furry back. Black ichor and bits of brain and bone fell from the wounds and dropped to the ground.
If George thought the stench was bad before, it was even worse now and he couldn’t hold the bile rising in throat from spewing out of his mouth like a fountain. In the air around him, he heard the loud moans like they knew what had happened to their brother. They sounded like they were coming for him. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he pulled the twice-dead body from the knives and ripped one free of the fencing.
George ran, making sure each turn took him further into the labyrinth and closer to his reward.
***
“Spike is dead again,” the radio crackled. Rendell picked it up and stared at it in disbelief.
“What do you mean Spike is dead again?” he asked.
“The contestant rammed his face into the knife trap in ending 32 of the northeast quadrant,” the radio answered back.
“If he makes it to the middle and passes his test, bring him to me. I think I may have been rather rash in my decision to kill him; he might be a great asset to our community.”
“Very well, sir,” the radio echoed and cut out.
I wonder what the rest of the entertainment will bring us tonight, Rendell wondered and went back to his binoculars. Once he had George back in his sights, he smiled and waited.
***
The branches closed in around him. Every limb and bush making up the labyrinth walls was balling up like a fist around him. His lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly, but he ran. When he came up on an intersection, he marked the path he took with a slash on the corner bush. All around him the moans and cries of the dead filled his ears.
But he ran.
In his chest, his heart thumped and pounded, strained beyond its limits. His breath came in quick short gasps and he slowed his pace. Panting, he dropped to his knees and looked up.
“George,” Harry’s weak voice whispered.
Stunned, George looked up and stared.
Harry was tied to a large wooden x and his body had slashes all over it. Sticking in his side was a rebar spike and screwdrivers were driven into his hands and feet. Blood cascaded down him in rivers and pooled at his feet.
“You have to go,” Harry said.
“I can’t. I’m done,” George muttered back.
“So hot,” muttered Harry.
George studied Harry’s body more closely and saw it. On his left thigh, covered by dirt and drying blood were the traces of a bite.
“Son of a bitch, you’re my surprise in the middle,” George said and shook his head.
Harry licked and tasted blood on his beaten and ruined lips. An expression of ecstasy crossed his beaten mouth as the crimson liquid flowed into his stomach. A low growl emanated from him and his eyes began to gloss over.
“Agh! I can’t hold on much longer George. Promise, promise me you’ll get them…” he said through his clenched teeth and his head fell to his chest. His tongue lolled out and hung from his open mouth.
George felt himself starting to get choked up. Harry thrashed wildly in his restraints and small moans escaped his battered lips. Taking a few steps forward, George reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand. Gently, he held it and began to weep for the life a man he barely knew, but, in just a few days, had lived a lifetime with.
“Harry, I want you to know I was starting to think of you like a son. I don’t know about Trent and with Sally gone you were all I had. Ha, three days and I latched on to you to like family. Too bad you’ll never get to tell me how you survived before we met,” George stated and moved closer.
Harry thrashed around harder the closer George got to him. Carefully, George climbed up next to Harry and looked him in the eyes as the last of his humanity drained away, leaving only the monster behind.
“I’m sorry,” George whispered. He reached and embraced Harry like a child and held him hard. Harry’s teeth snapped at George’s neck as he tried to feed the hunger gnawing in his gut, the burning need to eat his only driving force.
George placed the knife at the base of Harry’s skull and screamed to the night. The blade slid smoothly into the back of the neck and up into the infected brain. Harry’s mouth stopped moving and George felt him go limp in his arms. Letting go, he backed away and, for an instant, thought he saw Harry’s eyes return to normal before growing dark in the embrace of his second death.
Behind, a series of loud moans grew louder. George turned around and saw the grisly visages of the other characters limping toward him. A dog, a duck, and a female mouse all closed in around him. Their mouths were a bloody froth and the stench of their decay filled George’s nose. Stepping down from the platform, he stood stoic and welcomed the end.
“Fuck you,” he muttered and brought the knife blade up to his left eyeball. His memories of his life and his beloved Sally filled him and he slowly started pushing the tip into his eye.
“Wait! Stop!” a voice screamed above him.
A group of men rushed in and quickly roped and hog tied the three twisted childhood characters. George hesitated and gently backed the knife away from his face.
“You win! We’ll let you go,” he heard Rendell say.
“I win?”
“You made it to the middle and you killed the beast! As a token of my good graces, I release you from our kingdom to go forth and live life to the fullest outside our home,” Rendell answered in a condescending tone. Watching George kill Harry had made him realize he’d never be able to control George and he would be a danger to his kingdom.
“I win? I had to kill the only thing I’ve been able to begin thinking about as a family in a long time.”
“It’s a new world out the
re and the rules have changed. Inside these walls, we make our own new society and our own new norms. You, my friend, are nothing but entertainment to us and you performed excellently. I was rather entertained!”
“Fuck you,” George spat and walked away.
***
Johnny led George to the kingdom’s gates and handed him a .357.
“You’ll need this,” Johnny said and opened the door George and Harry had entered the day before.
“Is that all?” George inquired.
“No, and I’m sorry,” Johnny answered and pulled a 9mm from behind his back. He pointed it at George and his shaking hands made the gun wave around wildly.
George brought his gun up quickly and squeezed the trigger. Only the click of an empty chamber answered him.
“You think Rendell wanted you to have a loaded gun, man?”
“No, I figured as much,” George said.
In a flash, he pulled the knife from his belt and rammed the blade into Johnny’s throat. A shower of blood sprayed out and covered George’s face and arm. Johnny tried to talk, but his sliced larynx only made bubbling and gurgling sounds as his life gushed from his body. He dropped to his knees and the gun fell to the ground. George kicked him over and picked the 9mm off the pavement.
Then he took the knife and went to work.
***
“What do you think is taking Johnny so long,” the man with the long blonde hair asked.
The other five men grumbled and trudged to the front gate where Johnny had taken the outsider to kill him.
“Man, you know how he’s always fucking around in the shops and shit,” another man retorted.
“Mother fuck…” whispered one man before the zombie crept up behind him and tore into his soft neck. It pulled its rotting head back and ripped a large flap of skin away from the young man.
The others turned and saw a horde of zombies surrounding them. More and more undead bodies piled through the open gate and they saw what had attracted them. Strewn up across the front fence was Johnny. His body hung from different places along the outer gateway. An arm lay draped over the ticket booth and a leg was jammed though the wrought-iron fencing.
The words Fuck You All were written in crimson across the Milton Mouse World sign in front of the wrecked train. Zombies climbed from the bushes and from the lake, making their way to the gateway. In the distance, the screams of people were followed by answering firearm reports.
George sat up on the monorail track and smiled. The zombies marched down Main Street and mowed down any of Rendell’s men who came to meet them. He knew it wasn’t going to bring Harry back, but, in his heart, he had convinced himself the bastards deserved it.
As the morning sun began to rise, he climbed up on the monorail track and listened to the sounds of death in the park. Once the park stood as a place of magic and dreams for children and adults, now it stood only as a monument to death. He stretched out on the track and tried to take a nap. The previous night hadn’t given him a chance to sleep and his body ached. On his back, George stared up to the sky and thought about the people Rendell held under his thumb. Most of them were innocent, but they still cheered their hearts out and had demanded blood the night before. Guilt sank in and he rolled over and sat up. The rapid reports from gun fire died down and he lowered his head.
He knew the fight was over.
“Dear Lord, I know I don’t talk to you and I haven’t since I was a kid. Please be with those souls who didn’t deserve this and forgive me. Amen,” George somberly whispered.
Moans echoed through the park and the calm morning amplified the noise. George stood up and glanced around the parking lot. Cars and trucks filled every spot. Most had their doors open and others were nothing but burnt out husks from a fire that had spread through the lot during the madness.
George decided he didn’t care anymore. His chest hurt like hell and when he coughed blood speckled his trembling hand. He knew the end was rapidly approaching and he still needed to make sure Trent wasn’t holed up in St. Augustine.
Once again, George took to the open road on foot.
Once again, George was alone in the world.
5
Time didn’t matter anymore. All the passing of time did was bring George one breath closer to his last. He knew the cancer was beginning to ravage him more and more each second. Since he had left Milton Mouse World, Harry’s absence weighed heavily on him. He hadn’t realized how much he was going to need to rely on Harry to help him get to St. Augustine.
The trek from Milton Mouse World to Orlando was demoralizing. Passing the once busy intersections and walkways brought on a profound sadness. He pictured the streets as they had once been, busy, as tourists walked the shops and headed to their hotels along International Drive. George looked up at the hotels reaching silently up into the sky and could see the broken out windows. Birds perched on the window sills and pecked at the curtains inside.
He only had a few hours of daylight left and he wanted to get to the convention center for shelter and a place to possibly find some food. George hated Rendell for making him kill Harry, and taking all his remaining MREs didn’t help give him a better impression of the bastard.
“I hope he’s fucking zombie food,” George muttered and stopped under a palm tree to catch a break from the sun.
A group of ducks waddled by and hopped into the fountain in front of a pizza shop. The fountain hadn’t been on in almost a year and the water was murky and dingy. George licked his lips and he felt how dry and cracked they were. He’d pushed down his thirst, but watching the ducks swim in the dirty water brought his thirst to the surface. Behind the pizza shop, he watched three zombies move out and begin to advance on the pool. The ducks splashed without a care in the world and without the realization that their demise was approaching.
Anger swelled deep in George. The three represented everything he’d lost and the world had become. Drawing his knife, he headed to the pool to get a little revenge.
The front zombie reached the pool and tried to reach out for one of the ducks. The other two noticed George approach and walked toward him. George stopped and motioned them to him. Rage filled him and he pictured them with Harry’s face. He thought about how the virus had turned Harry into a bloodthirsty monster who had tried to eat his face. He remembered how it felt to sink the screwdriver into the base of his skull. He remembered the light returning to his eyes as he died the second time.
He grabbed the first zombie by the hair and screamed. His cry echoed in the empty streets and he slammed the blade in its ear. The zombie struggled for a moment and fell from his grasp to the ground. As the body went down, he yanked the blade free and reached out for the next in line. Without hesitation, he rushed the second and stabbed it in the eye. Foul blackened pus leaked from the ruined eye and ran down its face. The zombie stood frozen for a second and George pushed the blade deeper in. Taking a step back, the zombie toppled over and fell at his feet.
The third approached George and he answered with another blood-thirsty cry. George dropped the blade and grabbed the last zombie by the throat and began to squeeze. His fingers sank into the fetid flesh and he felt the skin and muscles turn to mush in his grip. Once his fingers were deep within the monster’s throat he pushed forward with all his might and shoved it to the ground. He followed it down and took the zombie’s skull in his hands. It snapped at him and snarled, but George calmly put his face close and spat in its face.
George’s eyes watered up and he began to slam the zombie’s head onto the asphalt. The first strike sounded like a ripe melon being dropped on a hot summer day. The head thudded once and split apart without a second hit. The zombie’s eyes blinked out and George slammed its head on the road over and over and over. He never said a word and never screamed; he methodically bashed the zombie’s head into an unrecognizable mess and stood up. He looked down at his hands and wiped the black and red goo on his pant legs.
“A few blocks till I can rest,” h
e muttered and walked off, down International, toward the convention center.
***
George stood before the doors to the Orange County Convention Center and sighed. A cough followed and he held his hand to his chest to help calm the pain that followed. The cancer kept taking more and more out of him and he hoped he could still make St. Augustine before he succumbed. His trek from Milton Mouse World had been hardly eventful and he was thankful for only three zombies attacking him. If he thought about it too long, rage began to swell within him. Regret and pity quickly followed, however. He had blood on his hands now and he didn’t know if the people he condemned to death had deserved it.
But they all paid for Harry.
They all paid for following Rendell.
Not all the people in the kingdom had played a direct hand in Harry’s death, but they had all cheered when he slid the blade into Harry’s brain. Now, when he closed his eyes, he could hear them scream out in pain and indignation against him. On the breeze blowing from the burning theme park, he could hear them accuse him and beg for him to receive punishment.
Of course, he already had his sentence; the Lord had condemned him to death months before. Now, he only awaited his final judgment.
George checked in every restaurant and hotel lobby on his way down International Drive. Each building had been ransacked and cleared out of anything he could eat or drink. He’d hoped he’d get lucky and find a stray bag of peanuts or a bottle of water. Instead he found corpses and empty shelves. Half-decayed bodies littered the dining rooms and lobbies. He hated to think what the rooms hid behind their locked doors.
“If I strike out here, I’m pretty fucked,” he told his reflection in the shattered glass door.
The doors remained silent, but they beckoned him to come inside. George tugged on the door handle and it didn’t budge. He kicked the splintered glass pane and it exploded inward. When it shattered, the sound of glass showering the floor echoed in the cavernous convention center lobby. Ducking down, George shimmied his way past the jagged hole he had made in the door and slipped inside.
