Dying Days: Death Sentence

by Brent Abell

  “Hey, buddy,” George said looking down at the pug. “You ready to finish the game?”

  Frank looked back at George and snorted in agreement. Turning his head back to the fence, Frank barked weakly. He tried to sound ferocious, but it came out sounding small. Still, the little dog stood bravely next to his human companions.

  George shot a glance over at Rendell and the man still hadn’t moved from his prayer spot in the sand. He searched the ground for something he could use as weapon. The fence wouldn’t hold out much longer and he needed something to fight with. Before he could find anything, thunder split the sky above them.

  A bolt struck a tent in the camp and George could smell the ozone burning in the evening. Fire began to roar through the tent city and the throng of zombies pushed harder against the fence. More and more of the dead were turned into meat as they were smashed into the fence. Finally, the weight of the horde grew too much for the chain link and it toppled over. The dead in front lost their balance and fell. Behind them, the zombie army shambled and walked over their undead brethren crushing them beneath the combined weight of hundreds of bodies.

  Frantically, George scanned the area trying to find a place to either stand and fight or retreat and hide. If not, they were about to make their last stand.

  ***

  Rendell saw the fence fail and the zombies overtake the beach. He always wondered why FEMA put the camp on the sand, but it finally dawned on him why they did; they knew it’d be easier to pack the people in if they thought of it as a vacation. Sure, it was a vacation from work and reality, and there was a nice ocean breeze, beach access, and free meals.

  Now, all the people who had once lived in the camp and counted on it for protection and a sense of normalcy slowly fanned out across the sand in search of someone to feed on. He’d heard the gunshot and watched Jay fall dead to the ground. Like it went down in Milton Mouse World, he’d let George bring about the death of those he cared about. Todd and Greg were a different matter. The idea of George brain-washing them to join him made Rendell want to vomit in disgust. George kept taking everything from him. Over toward the ocean, George ran to his companions. His feet splashed in the tide as the waves rolled across the shore.

  He saw the beach house and he knew he had to stop George.

  He had to get a little revenge.

  Now, he had a reason to live again.

  ***

  “Over there,” George shouted pointing to the pink and yellow beach house past the camp.

  “Will we make it?” Greg asked. The house sat on the other side of the camp, but, if they stuck to the shore line, they could out run the zombies along the fence.

  Nora picked up Frank and placed him back in his sling. She watched the zombies turn in their direction once they had cleared the fence. She noticed a small cut on her arm and a trickle of blood dried on her arm. “We need to go…now.”

  “Are you sure we can do this?” Todd asked.

  “One way to find out,” George replied and broke into a run.

  The others followed suit and took off for the beach house.

  ***

  The dead soldier stumbled over his fallen comrade and his boot landed squarely on his skull. Its skull split like an over-ripe melon and black sludge spilled from the foot-sized hole in its head. The soldier kept moving and didn’t have the capacity to care about what he did. He smelled blood in the air and he had to find it. He had to devour it. He had to destroy it and tame the cravings inside.

  Around the soldier, the others stopped and began to frantically sniff the air. Their hearts didn’t beat and they didn’t draw a useful breath, but they could tell when food was near. Something within the dead could always tell when a meal was close or when something close bled. They existed for the hunt and the kill. Some were ready to feast and others were ready to play with their meals before diving into the flesh.

  They didn’t know what they were or why; they were only aware of the hunger and the drive in them. The soldier looked at the woman next to him and he felt something in his mid-section stir, but the coppery scent of blood caught his nose again and he turned back to the beach were the four figures rushed past the gate and ran along the camp’s perimeter fencing.

  The dead woman next to him noticed he had changed direction and began to walk out toward the rolling waves. He veered back to the north and followed the fence line. Soon, others all smelled the blood and followed the soldier toward the people heading to the beach house.

  ***

  In a moment of weakness, Rendell wanted the zombies to fall on him and end his life. Now, as they turned away from him and gave chase to George and his friends, he was relieved. Clear thought returned to him and he knew the only way he’d find peace would be to kill George and the traitors. The bitch and the dog he didn’t give a shit about; he’d take them out to hurt George before he shot him in the gut and watched as he turned.

  Rendell laughed at himself. He relished the thought of George turning like his little whelp did. Yes, he had paid for what he had done, but he’d do it all again. Rendell fancied himself a survivor and he’d find a way to carry on.

  The lightning strike left the tent city engulfed in flames. The canvas tents and the straggling dead made great kindling and the flames danced on the darkened beach. He heard the moans and the sizzle from the dead flesh. A peculiar aroma wafted across the beach and he loved it. He smelled the scent of roasting meat mingling with the zombie’s rot and he inhaled deeply of the sweet aroma.

  To Rendell, it smelled like power and his lust to survive.

  To him, it smelled like death perfected.

  ***

  George turned to see what horrible death fell upon Rendell and instead was surprised by the column of the undead following them along the camps perimeter fence. A pang of grief filled him as the realization sank in he’d never know what happened to Trent. After all he’d been through and after all the miles he trod, the final answer he had sought would forever elude him.

  “To the house, now,” George ordered.

  Even as they ran, the zombies seemed to be gaining on them. Exhaustion took its toll on them and they trudged on toward the beach house. Over the Atlantic, the oncoming storm raged with a fury matched only by the hunger of the undead.

  Todd raced up the porch steps and turned to see where everyone else was. They had lagged behind him, but they closed the gap quickly. Further back on the beach, the zombies approached, their chorus of moans growing louder and louder.

  George motioned for Todd to get inside and he watched as Todd tried to open the door, but couldn’t. He frantically turned the knob and George wished he’d kick the fucking thing open. Todd brought his foot back like he had heard George’s thought and kicked the white wooden door. George smiled as Todd, Greg, and the Nora-Frank tandem pushed past the splintered door frame. He felt his chest burn, but he drove on and rushed into the house.

  “About time, old man,” Greg joked.

  George looked around the house and frowned. The door wouldn’t hold a fly back and the rooms looked to be covered in windows for the views back toward Fort Matanzas, the beach, and the coastal way into St. Augustine. All the windows were large and wouldn’t hold out a zombie army for long.

  Nora saw the look of concern etched on George’s face and she did her own assessment of the house and grew fearful. “We’re not safe here, are we?” she asked George.

  “No, we are not,” George flatly replied.

  Greg pointed to the stairs near the kitchen. “What about the second story?”

  “One access point is easier to defend,” Todd added.

  “Upstairs, now,” George ordered the others.

  They filed up the narrow stairs. Once on the top floor, they began to gather furniture and anything else they could use to block off the stairs. George stood in the doorway and stepped out on the porch. The rain started to pound the beach and the large drops hammered the house’s roof. The zombies came within a few hundred feet of the
house and stopped. The front row scanned the beach and sniffed the air. George inhaled deeply and all he could smell was the salt from the surf and the sweet aroma of a summer’s rain.

  They could not see or smell them any longer.

  George froze so they couldn’t detect his movement. He heard the rest of the group upstairs moving furniture around and he hoped the noise didn’t carry on the beach. A loud thunder clap boomed over the beach and the zombies turned to the water. Seizing the moment, George darted back into the house before the zombies could turn their attention back to the house. He stayed back in the shadows and waited to see what they’d do next.

  Waves crashed along the beach and, one by one, the zombies lost interest in the storm and turned to the house. The rain began pounding the shore and they moved slowly along the sand trying to get the scent of fresh meat again. George watched from the window and backed further into the house and closer to the stairs.

  He bumped the table behind him with his leg and a glass vase shattered on the floor. For an instant, time stood still as George watched in horror as the zombies started to turn to the house.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  Nora rushed to the top of the stairs and looked down. “You okay, George?”

  “We’re going to have company,” he called back and went for the stairs.

  They descended on the house quicker than George thought they would. Before he reached the top step, the first zombie pushed past the door. Spinning around, George saw three more on the porch and the whole line of them filing to the house.

  They were outmanned and had a few knives and a handful of bullets.

  George smiled as he went up the stairs.

  He was ready to dance.

  ***

  Rendell smiled as the horde swarmed the house. The zombies pushed each other over to climb up the porch and squeeze through the door. He noticed none of them were using the stairs to the upstairs deck. Slowly, he crept along the beach and his hand caressed the gun in his pocket. He knew he only had a few bullets left and one had a date with George.

  ***

  Todd and Greg pulled George over the barricade of chairs and dressers. He struggled with fatigue and, once he fell to the floor, he coughed. It was a deep cough and Todd saw the blood in his palm. George tried to wipe it quickly from his hand. He looked up and saw Todd looking down at him. Todd only nodded and held his hand out to help pull him from the floor.

  “Thanks,” George smiled.

  Below, the moans and sounds of crashing glass and furniture filled the air. An ungodly stench from the rotted flesh floated up the stairs and over-rode their senses. Nora gagged and Frank yapped at the stairs before retreating back to the rear bedroom. Todd and Greg stood ready to defend their position while George searched for more weapons.

  Frantically, he rifled through the room’s remaining chest and followed up by searching the closets. Throwing clothes and hangers out, he finally came across a small pink softball bat tucked away in the closet. He pulled it out and held it out with his right hand to size it up. The aluminum bat had some small scuffs and dings from being used and it was shorter than he would’ve liked, but it would do the job he called upon it to do.

  He needed to bash some heads in.

  Three zombies trudged up the stairs and began to pound their fists against the dresser and chairs blocking their path to food. Their bloody maws snapped and tried to find something, anything, to bite. Greg had found a broom in the bathroom closet and tried to push the zombies back down the stairs with it. Ramming it into the zombie closet to him, the handle sank deep in the decayed flesh. Black fluid poured out and the zombie jerked around trying to free itself from the broom. George rushed up behind Greg and swung the bat. It sped along its downward arc and connected with the dead man’s head. The milky haze in the man’s eyes darkened and George yanked the bat back out of its skull. It toppled backward and took a few others down with him.

  “Nice girly bat you got there,” Todd smirked.

  “Didn’t have much of a choice,” George retorted. He felt his chest seize up and his lungs felt like he breathed fire.

  Nora noticed George wince. She approached him and he waved her off. She saw the pain in his eyes, but she also knew the odds they were fighting and didn’t want to take their minds off the fight. She heard Frank’s paws on the hall’s hardwood floors and she shooed him away. When she didn’t hear the pug retreat, she looked down and saw him returning her gaze with a fierce determination. Like George, she could read the pain in Frank’s eyes too, but, instead of carrying him to safety, Nora bent over and ran her fingers through the short hairs on top of his wrinkly head.

  “My poor sweet, brave little boy,” she whispered to him. Behind her, George, Greg, and Todd defended the stairs with whatever they could scavenge.

  Greg swung a chair leg at a dead woman trying to grab him over the top of the dresser. Her long, thin, skeletal fingers clutched his shirt sleeve and he brought the leg down on her skull with the force he could muster. The wood cracked her head open, but didn’t break through to the brain. The zombie snapped at him and he pulled his arm back enough to avoid her teeth. He struggled to get the chair leg back in position to strike. He prayed for one of the others to lend a hand, but, from the corner of his eye, he saw them busy with the other zombies. She tried to take a bite out of him again and he stuck the leg into her mouth. Pushing, it broke out through the back of her throat.

  “Bitch,” Greg spat and yanked the leg out of her mouth and, gripping it with both hands, shoved it into her empty left eye socket. A putrid mix of blood and black-tinted fluids spilled down her face and she fell to the floor.

  More zombies climbed the stairs and, with each one the group killed, more took their place. The horde poured through the door and filled the first floor. With each dead body falling back down the stairs, two more replaced them.

  “Shit,” Todd said as a zombie fell over another dead body rolling down the stairs.

  “What?” George yelled.

  “The ones we kill up here are making it easier for them to climb up on the dressers,” Todd pointed out.

  George watched as one of the zombies climbed up the mounting pile of bodies and almost fell over the top of it. The dead were keeping the other zombies from getting close to the dressers in great numbers, but the more they killed, they built a ramp to walk up.

  A teenaged looking corpse shambled up the pile of dead bodies and reached out for Nora. Frank saw the dead kid grab at her and growled. Small barks erupted from him and Nora pushed the teen back. It fell, but managed to stay on the pile. Crawling toward Nora, Frank barked again. She spun around to see the teen’s teeth a few inches from her face. The stench wafting from its mouth and body made her want to gag. The entire house began to smell like the corpses and it made the humid air seem thicker and more pungent. The creature reached for Nora a third time and was met with a punch to the throat. The zombie froze, stunned from the blow.

  “Nora!” Greg called out and tossed her a broken piece of a lamp stand.

  Nora snatched the broken metal pole out of mid-air and turned back to the top of the stairs. The zombie reached the top of the dresser and tried to stand up. It straightened up and wobbled unsteadily trying to find balance. Nora thrust the pole up like a spear and caught the zombie under the chin. The broken stand emerged from the top of its skull and the light faded from its eyes. It fell forward and Frank barked at it when it hit the floor.

  “Who is a brave little boy?” Nora said in a baby-voice to Frank.

  Frank looked up and tilted his head to the side. Nora could tell he was trying his hardest to not fall over. He backed away from the corpse and walked unsteadily toward the rear bedroom. He reminded Nora of a drunk trying to navigate a bar at last call.

  George and the others swung at, stabbed, and pushed at the zombies. More and more piled in the house and pushed to the stairs.

  “We need to go, now,” George said.

  “I have a lighter
,” Greg said and pulled the old blue lighter with a faded gas station name from his pocket.

  “Plan?” Todd asked.

  “Burn the mother fucker down and go out the back window,” Greg replied.

  “I like it, but is there a way to get down?” George asked.

  Todd pointed to the window. “A deck wraps around the back of up here. We can get on it from the window.”

  “Did you see any stairs to the ground?” George asked.

  “Does it fucking matter right now?” Todd retorted.

  “No, it doesn’t,” George huffed.

  Greg rushed around and grabbed pillows and sheets from the rooms. More zombies tried to climb over the dressers and George, Todd, and Nora pushed them back. Frank came back out and barked them on. His small and weak yaps filled them with a second wind. Greg laid the sheets and lighter on the floor next to George’s feet. In a split second, George knew how it had to end.

  They had to survive.

  They had to fight another day.

  They had to bring civilization back from the brink of total annihilation.

  George knew he had zero chance of finding Trent. He looked at the others fighting for survival and he fought for them. Each downward swing with the chair leg he grabbed off the floor was in memory of his family. He bashed their brains in for his wife, his son, and his own soul. It felt good and he cut loose with a primal roar. All of his pain faded into the back of his mind and he tore through the zombies scaling the dresser.

  “Go!” George called out. Grunting, he smashed another zombie skull and ripped the chair back out of the caved-in face.

  “Not without you,” Nora replied and lashed out with her weapon.