by Dan O'Brien
Allen stood over him. “What the fuck happened back there? Why did you go back in the Tower?”
Dan’s eyes were filled with tears. He sniffed, wiping a dirty hand across his face. “I had to go back for something, something important.”
Allen sat down as well.
“Must have been pretty important.”
“Yeah.”
Will looked back over his shoulder again.
“Where the fuck is Kenny?”
“Gone.”
There were tears in Will’s eyes. “Gone? What the fuck do you mean? How the fuck can he be gone?”
Dan cleared his throat, his voice raw.
“He got bit; he’s gone.
Will looked at Dan incredulously.
“You fucking shot him, didn’t you?”
Allen gazed at Will in horror. “Would you rather have a Kenny zombie around here? Would you really want to see him like that?”
Will did not respond.
“I think something is wrong with Brandon, I can’t…” began Jesse.
At that moment, Brandon was no longer Brandon.
He bit down hard on Jesse’s arm.
“No,” screamed Dan.
He reached across, pushing aside his brother, and grabbed Brandon by the neck.
Brandon’s mouth was wide open.
He desperately tried to bite Dan.
“No. No. You fucks.” Pulling his handgun free, he stuck it in Brandon’s mouth and ended another friend’s life.
The shot was loud in the van.
Will jumped, turning the wheel dramatically––shifting everybody. “What the fuck is going on back there?”
Looking back, he saw the blood spattered across Dan’s face and torso; as well as Jesse sitting back, holding his arm. Dan simply looked at the body that had previously been his friend and shook his head. “This can’t be happening.”
“I am afraid so,” replied his brother.
Dan turned and looked at his younger sibling.
“No, please God no.”
Jesse smiled sadly. “I am afraid that he is not listening anymore. Or perhaps that is simply my pessimism.”
Dan reached out and removed his brother’s hand from the wound. The dark puss of infection was already forming. “No….” Dan was crying now––not simply tears, but a quiet sob.
“I am afraid this is where we part ways, brother. I do not have much time. I have enjoyed our time together.”
Dan’s head hung.
He reached out with his arms.
Jesse allowed himself to be hugged.
“Do not blame yourself,” he whispered.
Dan nodded weakly.
Jesse reached into his belt and––in one smooth motion––pulled his handgun and pushed away from his brother. Taking a small step back, he opened the sliding side door.
“What the fuck?” called Will.
Dan looked up, his eyes glassy.
“I’m sorry.”
Jesse stuck the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, and he fell from the van, his body colliding with the asphalt and disappearing behind them. Dan lunged forward, but Allen caught him in his arms.
“No, let me fucking go. No,” he screamed.
Allen held him tighter.
Will turned around and Allen nodded. The van accelerated, leaving the town of River’s Bend behind them. Dan continued to fight against Allen until he slumped forward sobbing.
His life was over.
Track 14
Freebird
T
he van turned toward the compound. Traps that had been set by six men left alone in the world decorated the landscape. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sound of gunfire and bickering faded away. Dan stepped out of the van, followed by Allen.
“We have to go,” commented Dan.
“Go where?” asked Will irritably.
Allen reached back into the van and pulled Brandon’s body out. He placed what used to be their friend just outside of the truck, face down. “Deeper in the mountains, farther from where those fuckers could be hiding.”
Dan nodded and moved toward the compound. “We load everything up that we need and get the fuck out of here.”
Will walked in front of Dan. “What about the signal? What about the Tower? Didn’t it work?”
Dan shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Everyone is gone. We are left. We have to go.”
Will looked back at Allen. “That's it. Just like that we leave? What about the town? What about the people we lost?”
Dan opened the rolling door of the compound.
“Will, stop,” cautioned Allen.
Will was angry now.
“No, fuck that. We have lost too much. We can’t leave. This is our home. We stayed after the world fucking ended. We can’t leave now.”
Dan turned slowly, and then lunged at Will. Lifting him up like he was a child, the once-husband and brother was seething with anger: hateful.
“You have always been a child. A spoiled, protected little wise-ass. If you want to stay, then stay. I endangered us by staying here a long time ago. I will do that no longer.” Will just looked at Dan. Letting him fall from his hands, Will stayed on the ground and said nothing. “Allen, help me load the guns, some food, what we can.”
*
An hour later the van was nearly loaded up.
The sun was going down.
Allen stood farthest from the van. As he looked up, he saw a cloud of green smoke from a distance. “They are here.”
Will walked slowly with a tray of cans in his arms.
He dropped them as he, too, saw the smoke.
“No….”
Dan emerged from inside the compound carrying an armful of weapons and ammo. He continued to the van and placed it inside. He moved next to Allen, who was still looking into the forest.
“How long do we have?”
Allen grimaced.
“Five minutes, maybe ten.”
Dan shut the sliding doors of the van.
Allen did not move.
“We go with what we have then.”
Will watched numbly, his mouth mumbling.
Allen sighed deeply.
“No, not me.”
Dan walked forward.
“Like this then? Here?”
Allen nodded tightly. “We have run and hidden long enough. I will stay; you two go on. Survive.”
Dan looked at his friend.
Moving back to the van, he opened the side door and removed several assault rifles and stacks of clips. He placed them down on the ground near Allen.
“It has been an honor, old friend.”
Allen turned slightly.
“Yes. I will see you on the other side. Travel well.”
Dan looked at him and extended his hand.
Allen shook it, and they embraced for a moment.
“Die well, my friend.”
Will was already in the van, his head poking out the window. His eyes were nervous.
Dan lingered for a moment.
“Do not think about it. We have said our goodbyes. This is my stand. You may yet have yours,” spoke Allen without turning.
Dan nodded again and moved to the side of the van, starting it. He backed up the van and turned it around. As they passed Allen on the way out, he did not look.
They did not look back.
*
The road did not look as promising as it once had.
Will looked over at Dan.
His eyes were forlorn.
“She was my sister. I loved her, too.”
Dan smiled tightly.
“Yes, I know.”
Will was not finished.
“I was sad when she died.”
“But the difference is that day, Mary and I both stopped living.”
Will swallowed hard and looked back at the road, toward the setting sun.
Track 15
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
A
llen stood very still. The weapons were lined up. At the very edge of the forest line the zombies began to emerge. The bright floodlights that encapsulated the compound were on, flooding the night and revealing their numbers.
They were denizens of the night.
They crawled and mauled.
Snarling and groaning, they fell over one another, filling the holes that had been dug to keep them away. Allen raised the assault rifle and aimed it carefully.
With each round, another fell.
When the clip was spent, another was used. They came until they were trampling atop their dead brethren, until the holes that protected the compound were filled with the blood of the undead.
They kept coming.
They were almost upon him now.
He had killed hundreds.
The last clip emptied, the dead click a pronouncement. He threw down the gun. Running at them, he was ready to die.
His voice was lost in the carnage, but it was a war cry. And as they bore down on him, he disappeared into the masses.
No more.
*
The headlights of the van flashed over a road sign long since torn down. Once upon a time it might have announced a destination, but now it was only a portent of terrible things that may have transpired there.
The road had begun to crack.
Its turns were wild where the thicket overgrew them.
“Where are we going?” asked Will.
Dan did not answer.
Will reached forward and turned on the radio. “You ever think about the song you would want to hear last?”
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Will looked at him as if he had not expected an answer.
“Which version?”
Dan smiled.
“Israel Kamakawiwo’ole.”
“The big guy who died?”
“Technically, everybody is dead.”
“Dead before everything went to shit, I mean.”
Dan nodded.
“I dunno man that sounds a little sketch, ya know.”
Dan turned, an eyebrow raised.
The moment was lost as the van collided with a shadow. Spinning, Dan let off of the gas, allowing the van to auto-correct.
“Did you see what that was?”
Will was shaken.
“Deer?”
Dan shook his head.
“We should be so lucky.”
Grabbing an assault rifle just behind the seat, he stepped out the driver’s side door. As he looked out into the darkness in front of the van, he shook his head.
“Whatever it is…”
A zombie latched on his arm, biting him.
He looked down and saw that it was a little kid. Or at least was once a small child. With a sad look, he leveled the rifle and fired. The small body was ripped back, splattering into the far bushes. Touching the bite, he pushed his fingers through his arm guard.
Pulling his fingers back, he saw blood.
His laugh was acerbic.
“It would figure.”
Will was looking out the open door on the driver’s side.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Farther in the distance, figures moved out from the side of the road. Dan sighed, stepping back toward the van. Extending the rifle to Will, he shut the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Drive until you find somewhere safe.”
“What?”
Will saw the zombies coming.
“Get in the fucking van, man.”
Dan sighed, drawing the blade free from the sheath along his back.
“No. No. None of this honor shit, man. Get in the van.”
“I can’t, Will. This is where my journey ends.” Will reached out as if to grab his arm, and Dan wheeled so that they were face to face. “It was a little kid that we hit. He bit me. I can’t go with you anymore.”
“No, I can’t do this on my own.”
“Don’t really have a choice now.” Dan’s voice softened. “You’ll be fine. Just drive until you find someplace you like. Someplace you feel safe.” Dan started to walk forward, toward the cautious zombies as they crept onto the road.
“Dan….”
Will did as he was told. Putting the van into gear, he accelerated––slowly at first––and then he was far from view. Dan walked forward and stood in the middle of the road, holding the sword in his right hand.
He lifted his left hand and closed his eyes.
Kissing the rings there, he opened his eyes.
They were coming.
There were seven of them.
Dan was lucky that they did not come all at once. The first received a clean stroke, its head rolling from its shoulders. The second and third skittered forward, scrambling frenetically on all fours. Dan stepped forward, planting his lead foot and ripping through one. Then stepping back, he turned. He brought the blade down such that the third was no more. Dan flicked his blade with a deft precision, removing the murky blood of the zombies.
“Such an end,” he whispered.
The remaining ones ran forward with the terrifying gait and gallop of the undead. One reached out, only to lose an arm, another its head. They bit and clawed, but as the last one fell, Dan remained.
Kneeling, Dan wept.
With a deep sigh, he held the sword out in front of him, the point of the blade against his chest. He whispered to himself. His words were unintelligible as he plunged the blade into his chest and drew it down his torso as best he could. As night claimed day, Dan fell to his side: alone.
*
The van was in a ditch.
The front end was smashed up against a tree.
The driver’s side door was ajar.
There was a cabin in the distance.
Inside that cabin, a fireplace burned brightly.
Will sat in front of it.
Blood covered every surface.
On the table beside him was a gun with bloody fingerprints on it. He looked up at the windows of the cabin and saw lights flash over them: bright, inviting lights. Smoke billowed from his mouth as the moments passed. Suddenly, there was a loud, uneven knock at the door––a kind of pounding, and then darkness.
The Twins of Devonshire and the Curse of the Widow
1
T
he halls of the Tower of Darkness were decorated with murals depicting grotesque beings; the curved jaws and mouths littered with jagged, uneven teeth were a frightening sight. The moon shone brilliantly in narrow corridors shrouded in the shadow, except for the square windows that were scattered about.
The monolith stood alone atop a windy mountain, the path leading to it covered in black snow. Poison oozed from deep in the earth, tainting the ground. The path wound down the mountainside, close to the only nearby village. It was a small town called Sel’verene in the tongue of the Old Ones: the village of the cursed.
The village thrived in the shadow.
The few sparse buildings were dark beneath the pale moonlight, nothing stirring in the streets or distance. Fear governed the countryside. The people did not dare to linger in the darkness, not even with the lunar skies so bright.
Skeletal brush was scattered about the village. The tavern was the only building that dared any noise––the lamp there burning dimly in the shadowed light. The beaten path that wove its way to the far side of the village was entrenched with footfalls in the fresh snow.
The tavern itself was dark and dank.
It reeked as if it served as a stable for horses and swine. Yet, the better part of a dozen sour-looking men remained seated in their chairs. The tables were dusty and the doors to the tavern were open wide, allowing the frigid air outside to whisk through the main room. The men drank their dark amber liquid from musty glass steins, the froth sticking to the cold glass and dripping down the side.
The wintry gales blew back their long, scraggly hair and equally thick beards that covered a
sickly demeanor. The mood of the tavern was sour at best, not a word exchanged from patron to patron––even the comely serving woman behind the bar dare not utter a word.
A hand slammed into the brittle frame of the tavern, the skin worn and reddened from the cold air. The cuticles of the nails were cracked and bleeding: dried blood blotched over pale white skin. The hand slid down the doorframe, the moisture of the snow aiding the abrasive surface.
As the hand neared the bottom, a man fell through the open door. His cold face was filled with dread and fear. His hands were gripped tight like claws, knuckles white and bloodless. His mouth was agape, crystal blue eyes open and unwavering. With a beard much thinner than that of the other patrons, his hair was cut along his shoulders––the ends fair and unspoiled.
He crawled along the floor, his hands gripping the wood and slipping as he moved forward. The patrons looked on unfazed as the man inched through the doorway and into the center of the tavern.
“Help––me,” croaked the man. His voice was cracked and worn like a brass horn played far beyond its years.
He curled into a ball and shivered horribly. The minimal coat he wore had deep lacerations ripped through it, like three sets of distinct claw marks. The man closest to him watched the man reach up for him, the labored movement causing him to open his mouth once again like a dying fish out of water. The man rose slowly and slammed the heel of his boot into the prostrated man’s face, splitting his already cracked lips. He spilled blood upon the cold wooden floors of the solemn tavern.
“What,” groaned the man as he gripped his stomach and rolled away. He tried to raise himself upon another arm, but failed to do so when another patron knocked his arm to the ground. Slamming the chair he had been sitting in over the weakened man’s back, the blow drew a weak scream from him
Two of the patrons stood.
Upon seeing the man writhe upon the floor, the remainder of them stood. They began to beat and strike the man with whatever object they could find. The man’s cries were soon drowned out by the crunching of his bones and squishing noises as he bled his coat crimson.
