by Brent Abell
The flood of the undead began to reach the top of the dresser blocking the stairs. Rotting arms under tattered sleeves reached and grabbed for anything living. Hunger drove them and they didn’t know what they did; they answered to pure instinct and a base animalistic drive. None of them flinched when the one in front of them was struck down. They didn’t care.
“Get the fuck out of here! If you don’t go now, you won’t be getting out alive,” George fired back.
Todd took hold of Nora’s arm, “We have to go now. George will be fine.”
Greg took a long look back at George and the old man nodded. Greg understood and turned to the window. He scooped up Frank and motioned for Todd and Nora to hurry. The four hurried to the back window and threw it open. Outside, the storm raged and the rain battered the beach. Waves crashed ashore and ripped layers of sand away back out to the ocean.
“He’ll follow,” Todd comforted Nora.
Nora ducked through the window and out on the deck. Nothing she could think of calmed the nervous fear she felt.
***
It was a good run, George thought to himself with a silent chuckle. In the rear bedroom behind him, he heard the others escape the house to the deck that surrounded the second story and led to the main level by way of a wide staircase on the ocean side. The sheets and lighter on the floor next to him whispered for him to unleash them. He had burnt towns looking for the guilty in Iraq. He had buried the victims he had allowed to die and he had buried the killers in justice. Looking out at the undead mob pushing through the beach house, he recognized a losing battle.
Kneeling down, George picked up the party favors Todd and Greg had left for him and he smiled. It’d been a while since he was able to really cut loose and release the dogs of war. The closest he’d been since the world fell was Rendell’s little fiefdom. He needed his combat senses to survive and called on them again to allow the kingdom’s citizens to perish.
He wanted to die making his stand here, but Rendell still might lurk along the camp and beaches. George had to be sure the little fucker was dead before he succumbed to his cancer.
“You want me? You want to fucking eat ME!” George bellowed.
The zombies chorus moaned louder and their advances to the stairs reminded George of the way shoppers would over-run each other for a television deal on Black Friday. A stifled laugh escaped his lips. The irony of the situation humored him. George stood back up, tall and straight. Draping the first sheet over the dresser, he flicked the lighter to life and placed the flame on the sheet’s fraying edge. The flame licked the white cotton and blackened. Thick black smoke began to curl up from the sheet and the orange flames danced up the linen. Underneath the cover, the dresser’s varnish smoldered and caught fire.
George backed away and watched the fire reach the first zombies. Flames caught tattered sleeves and rotted flesh a light. Rushing up their arms, the decaying skin burned like paper and the fire spread swiftly among the dead. Some fell back down the stairs and others still threw their fiery corpses against the roaring dresser fire. George felt the heat rolling from the growing inferno and sweat poured from his body. Covering his mouth, he gagged on the stench wafting through the house. The burning flesh mingled with the smoky smell and overpowered him. He covered his nose with his elbow and backed into the rear bedroom.
Climbing out the window, he spotted Rendell slinking along the beach’s barrier fencing.
He hoped he could yell a warning in time.
***
Rendell gleefully watched the traitors and the bitch hurry down the second story deck stairs toward the beach front. He wished he possessed a gun so he could blow them into next week, but, when he started to close the gap between them, he wanted to be close enough to kill them with his bare hands and wipe their blood on his face and body. He knew his mind had left him, but he didn’t care.
He wanted to kill them all and eat them.
Maybe he could live forever as one of them without dying.
He could rule the undead as a living zombie.
George’s pups reached the sands and hurried toward the multi-story condos running along the beach. Rendell felt his hands curl like talons and his teeth seemed sharper when he ran his tongue along them. He wanted to taste their flesh and let their blood wash down his throat. He wanted to rule the undead like he once did the living.
The rain soaked him to the bone and the wind howling from the ocean made him shiver in the humid air. It was a dichotomy he understood. He himself shared the same ironic existence. Rendell was the living who longed to be undead. Hunger gnawed at him deep in his guts and he salivated thinking about George and his friends.
Rendell pulled a small serrated knife from his boot and stuck it between his teeth. They rushed from the house and his eyes followed them as they rushed toward the condominium building up the beach. He kept a second gun in his waistband and pulled it from the center of his back. Laughing, he fired a shot wildly at them. A fence post close to them splintered and he decided to hold off on wasting more bullets; he wanted to make sure he had enough for all of them.
He had four shots left and five people to kill.
Rendell relished the thought of having to be creative when he killed one of them.
***
Todd winced as the fence post exploded next to him. Wood shards showered him and he swung his arm up to try to cover his face. A large chunk kissed him across his forearm and he immediately felt a warm trickle run down his arm in the cold rain. He took a peek over his shoulder and saw Rendell race along the fence toward them. The crazed man reminded him of Gollum from Lord of the Rings. The shape rushing in their direction was hunched over and his arms swung wildly from side-to-side as he pursued them.
“Quick, into the building,” Greg ordered over the rolling thunder.
The rain drove down harder on them and it made visibility of the beach impossible. Greg noticed Rendell disappear in the storm. He stopped and scanned the beach looking for the man they once thought would keep them safe. Instead, he saw the beach house they originally sought refuge in engulfed in flames. The orange tongues licked the roof from the windows and the glass began to explode from the heat being generated inside.
“Shit, I hope he got out,” Todd said.
Frank yelped and coughed.
“Inside, now,” Nora said kicking open the door. She peeked down at Frank and saw him looking off, back toward the burning beach house. “He’s fine,” she whispered in the pug’s ear and gave his head a light rub. Frank calmed and snuggled close to her chest.
“I hope this place is clear,” Greg said and slammed the door behind them.
Todd frantically surveyed the lobby area looking for something to barricade the door with. The condo’s commons area looked like a tornado had torn through it. All the chairs and small tables were flipped over and blood stained the walls and floor. He glanced around and became concerned.
“Where are the bodies,” Todd asked. He really didn’t need to know the answer, but the question had to be asked.
“Migrated, I hope,” Greg bluntly replied.
Frank sat down behind an over-turned table and panted. He sniffed the air and sneezed before putting his head down on the marble tiled floor, trying to cool off from all the excitement. He stared at the door and waited for the man who took care of him to come back. He loved being left with the woman who’d been carrying him around, but he wanted to make sure the man was okay too. The other two guys were fine and showed him a little love, but the first two were the ones who had found him and he loved them as much as a dog could love. He relaxed when he didn’t smell the familiar stench of the bad ones, the ones who wanted to hurt them all.
“Well, Frank settled down,” Nora pointed out.
“I’ll take that as a sign we’re clear here,” Todd replied.
Greg approached the glass window and placed his hands on it. Gently, he traced his fingers through the condensation and drew a smiley face. Drops of water ran down the
glass and it felt cool to his touch. He placed his forehead against the window and let the dampness relax him.
“Motherfuckers,” screamed a voice from the outside.
Fists pounded the window and a face pressed up against it. Greg jumped back and almost fell over backwards. Rendell’s face appeared in a twisted grin. His eyes looked wild and Greg saw spit frothing in the corner of the man’s mouth. His lips were pulled back so far, Greg waited for the skin to split apart. It was a horrible visage that mirrored the kind of person Greg knew Rendell to be. Yes, he did bad things under Rendell’s rule, but he thought himself a better man now. He’d found George, Nora, and Frank.
He wanted to live.
He needed to atone for his sins.
He wanted to end Rendell’s life.
When Greg looked back at the window, he saw Rendell point the gun and fire.
***
George rushed down the stairs and to the beach. Behind him, the fire crackled and rain drops sizzled as they fell upon the house. The zombies moaned and he thought he heard the sounds of their flesh popping and frying in the flames. Even though he wanted to die and fade away, he wanted to live for the others.
The heat wave washed over him and, in the rain, he felt the sweat bead on his face and mix with the drops. In the distance, he saw the rest of his friends rush into the condominium building. To his left, he also spied another shape bounding toward the building. At the distance he stood, he could still tell it was Rendell.
His body ached and he couldn’t breathe, but he forced his legs to move. He hadn’t run in ages and he pushed himself on. Rendell closed the gap to the condo and George summoned all he had to increase his speed. Each gulp of air burned his lungs and he coughed. Still, he fought to keep moving.
George saw Rendell throw himself against a large picture window and hit the glass with his fists.
George screamed when Rendell held his gun up to the window and fired.
***
Greg put his hands up to his face as the glass shattered from the shot. Shards showered him and he scooted back from the window. Rain blew in and the wind howled into the room. Rendell stepped through and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. The spit was wiped off, but the maniacal grin remained. Greg hoped it would wash away and leave a less insane Rendell behind, but he knew better.
He knew Rendell was a crazy motherfucker and he shuffled back across the floor to get away from him.
“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!” he howled.
“Holy shit, you’ve lost it,” Todd said. He kneeled down to pick up a table leg and rose to meet the man, standing tall.
“I’ve lost nothing but my humanity. I seek to rule the dead.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you did fucking lose it,” Greg said as he stood.
Rendell brought up the gun and pointed it at Greg. “I have no use for traitors or the living.”
The gun fired.
A roar filled the lobby as a figure rushed through the hole in the glass and dove for Rendell. The shape’s body barrel rolled Rendell and his arm jerked up toward the ceiling. The bullet struck the chandelier and the crystal exploded. It rained down on George as he stood over Rendell’s body. George wheezed, but his nostrils flared in anger.
“I should’ve done this the first time,” George said.
Rendell wiped the blood from his lips where the force of the body blow made him bite his tongue. He tasted the coppery twang in his mouth and it drove him to the brink of total madness. He snorted and licked the blood from around his mouth. His tongue traced a circle around his lips and he savored the taste of his life blood.
“You were too much of a pussy to come after me, but you had no problem sending the fucking zombies in to kill my people.”
“You never should have made me kill the boy,” George spat back. He coughed and blood dripped from his mouth.
“I gave you the choice to live or die and you made the decision on your own. Don’t fucking saddle me with your guilt,” Rendell spat back.
George lashed out and quick-kicked Rendell in the jaw. His boot came up under Rendell’s face and his head snapped back.
“I wish I had the blade I had to slip into Harry’s brain so I could use it on you,” George said.
Rendell staggered to his feet and laughed. “You ain’t got shit.” He pointed to Todd, Greg, and Nora with the gun. “These pups are nothing to you! You want to die? I can see it in you already. Death clings to you like a wet shirt.”
George stood there in silence for a moment. His fist clenched and opened only to tighten into fists again. “You’re right, I do want to die. I’ve been ready for a long time now.”
“I am Death and the new resurrection. Let me make you one of my family,” Rendell taunted George.
“Wrong, I am Death,” George stated as he drove his shoulder into Rendell’s stomach.
Rendell’s breath rushed from his body and he staggered backwards. Before George could reset himself, Rendell charged with both fists high in the air. He caught George off-balance and hit him in the left cheek. George backed away and Rendell pressed the attack with a flurry of quick hits and open-handed slaps.
“Should we get in there?” Todd asked.
“No, let them fight. I have a feeling this has been brewing for awhile,” Nora responded. She never looked at Todd to answer; she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the brutal fight taking place.
“I’d like to take Rendell down a notch,” Greg added.
“No, let them go,” Nora repeated.
George grabbed Rendell’s collar and pulled him in for a punch to the nose. George felt the cartilage separate and Rendell’s nose flattened. Blood exploded from the broken nose and Rendell let out a muffled cry. George didn’t let up and kneed Rendell in the groin, sending the man to the floor.
Rendell hit his knees and drove a fist up into George’s gut. George backed away and raised his fists. Rendell climbed to his feet and matched George’s stance. Both stood and stared each other down like two old prize fighters. Each sported bruises and cuts on their faces and blood smeared on their clothes and running from their noses. George’s knuckles were busted open and bled; the skin looking raw and ragged. He knew Rendell’s teeth caught his fists and he filed the pain away with all the rest of it he carried with him.
Even in a pained state, Rendell grinned at George. If George killed him, he won and, if George let him win, he won too. He loved where he found himself. He hoped George would finish him so he could rise as the king of the undead. He longed to rule a kingdom again.
“You won’t do it,” Rendell goaded George.
George jabbed at Rendell and caught him with a surprise left hook into Rendell’s face. Rendell laughed and spit a mixture of teeth and blood to the floor.
“That all you got? You gave it to that Harry fucker harder than that,” Rendell provoked him again.
“Motherfucker,” George muttered and dove at Rendell again.
Rendell met him like a whirling dervish. His fist flew in all directions and George tried to block the flurry, but most of the shots got through. George stumbled backward and doubled over. A deep cough erupted from him and he spat a bright red glob on the floor.
“I don’t have to do much else do I? You already have one fucking foot in the grave,” Rendell badgered.
George glanced up at the man responsible for Harry’s death. He saw the man who had led his followers to their demise and their undead damnation. He looked down at his own hands and the blood he saw was his share of the carnage. Images of Trent, Sally, and Harry flashed through his mind and he saw the light, but he saw two figures and not three.
“I’m going to huff and puff again and blow this whole fucking place in!” Rendell screamed and rushed at George.
This time, George looked up and ducked out of the way. Rendell’s momentum carried him past George and into the wall. His head smacked the mildewed surface and he saw stars in his vision. George leaped into action and jumped on Rend
ell’s back. He pounded his right fist into the flailing man’s ear and held on to him with his left like he was in the rodeo. Rendell bucked and shrieked in anger mixed with pain. George poured it on.
For the first time since he had left Iraq, he let his demons out to play. Rage filled him and his vision carried a red-tinted hue. Everything he saw looked drenched in blood. Rendell began to fall and George let his weight topple him over. They both crashed to the floor and George never missed a beat with his fist. He heard something crack and Rendell fell limp. George stopped and gazed upon Rendell’s ruined face. His right cheek bone had shattered and his face swelled into a bruised and bloody mess. The right side was almost unrecognizable. George panted and stood up. He still felt the rage seething within him and he looked over at the others.
Before anyone could say another word, George collapsed.
8
When George opened his eyes, the light blinded him. The windows in the bedroom were pulled back and a cool breeze blew in from the ocean. His body remained stiff and his joints cried out when he tried to roll over. Frank met his face, when he finally rolled to his side, with a lick on his cheek. George could tell the pug wasn’t doing well. He saw the drying blood on the pillow and knew he wasn’t doing spectacular.
“Hey, buddy,” George said and rubbed Frank’s head.
The pug wheezed and settled against his chest. Within a few seconds, Frank snored in a fitful sleep. George carefully turned away and sat up. Pain raced through is body and his lungs felt like he had drank molten lava.
“You’ve been out for a few hours,” Nora said from a chair across the room.
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” George quipped.
“We thought it best if we didn’t get in the middle of whatever that was. It looked like you both had it out for each other pretty bad.”
“Rendell didn’t even deserve to come back as a zombie.”
Nora got up and brought George a bottled water. “Drink this.”
