“We should,” I said, popping the lid on the pineapple chunks. It had a little ring on top for easy access. Grinning, I took a sip of the juice, which was nirvana. I had eaten whatever could be thrown together for the last day, and the stop at the Walmart saw me wolfing down dog food gruel that tasted like crap. Nothing but meat at the cabin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had fruit.
I dug a couple of pieces out and handed the can to Scott. He didn’t waste any time taking a sip, then rolled his eyes back like he was having the best sex of his life. He ate three or four chunks as well, but he chewed on them slowly, one at a time, so he could savor them. The can didn’t last long, but we enjoyed every second. I still had mandarin oranges, peaches, and a can of refried beans. I tossed him the can of beans.
“What, ‘cause I’m fucking Mexican you give me the beans?”
I just about spat out the bit of pineapple.
“Come on, man, how about those peaches? You got two cans.”
I laughed and handed him one.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I smirked, and he grinned back. I felt a friendship forming with him. He was a good guy with a sense of humor, and I could see that he would be a great guy at my back and vice versa.
“Better than nothing, man.”
“Gives you nasty farts.”
“I don’t need much help with that.”
He laughed.
I laughed at his face, which he had screwed up as if he were deep in thought. Before I started cracking up for real, I slipped outside, but stopped dead in my tracks.
It couldn’t have been the creeping around; it had to be the gunshot that drew them. Whatever it was, we had a serious problem. About twenty of the rotted things were closing in on us.
“Ah fuck!” Scott whispered behind me.
* * *
The day had gone too well. We’d only had one of the things to contend with, and it was locked in the closet for so long it was probably completely brain dead—if it even had brains. Being stuck in there for a long time couldn’t have been good for it. It basically fell out, and I finished it off. The ones in front of the house were much different.
They wore tattered clothing, the ones that were dressed. Some only had on tops or bottoms. There was a large woman with a gash running across her forehead and dried blood caked all over her face. She wore the remains of a pair of corduroy pants, green but covered in refuse. Her shirt was missing, and her breasts were shriveled things that looked like big raisins. Next to her was a man in a full three-piece suit that had seen better days. I expected it to reek of mothballs if he got close enough—that and rot. They were all rotted; some were falling apart. It was a pathetic group that had their eyes set on me and Scott. A feast for the dead. I didn’t plan on being dinner.
Dropping the bag, I started popping them one at a time. I aimed and took care that I had each shambler in my sight before I stroked the trigger. Scott wanted to run; I could see it in his body language. I had him pegged in the corner of my eye, but he stuck by my side, which raised his status quite a bit in my mind. It was easy to give in to panic and make a run for it, but a true soldier did the best he could with what he had. And we had each other.
I brought another one down—a child this time. A kid with long hair that was faster than the others. He or she was already halfway up the driveway when I took it in the throat. It stumbled to a halt as half of its neck disappeared in a spray of gore that I never wanted to remember.
More were on their way in their shambling mass. We would have to make a run for it after all. At least they were slow, but if one of the ghouls was around, it might use its strange influence to push them at us.
I took to the tall grass with Scott right behind me. It was tough going, as we had to high-step it over the mass of green that was taking over the front yard. I hauled ass around the corner and came to a stop as more of the things came out of the greenbelt surrounding the yard. There were dozens of the shambling creatures, and they all had hungry eyes set on our flesh.
Even if I could find a place to shoot from, we didn’t have enough ammo to take them all out. We couldn’t call for help; no radios. Now if I had asked about those, it might have been the genius move of my life, but I was so convinced that the little communities were keeping the zombies at bay that I got hasty and didn’t plan well enough. Shit!
I stopped in my tracks and stared at Scott. “Can we run through them?”
“It just takes one bite, man, and when they start dragging at you, I’ve seen people brought down by three of the fuckers.”
I popped the first few that were closing in on us. One fell with a neat hole between its eyes. Another lost the side of its head but came on, so I shot it again, and it fell in a heap.
I looked around desperately and spotted something I didn’t expect. A splash of red in the tall grass next to my rusting lawnmower. It was near the house and within easy reach. I let out a yelp as I spotted it and ran to grab it. It was still pretty heavy, like it was at least half full. I wasn’t sure how long ago I had used the stuff, so I wasn’t sure if I had left it in that state. Still, I supposed with all the cars lying abandoned, folks had no problem finding enough fuel to keep their cars running. What did they need my piddly can for?
The top was one of those pop-off caps that allowed the can to breathe, so it might have been full. For all I knew, with the fumes pouring off for the last half year, it could be half water. I didn’t have time to worry about it. I jerked the cap off and splashed the fluid all over the ground in front of the ones coming out of the greenbelt. I splashed it in high arcs that cascaded in a beautiful display of rainbow that coated a few.
Scott turned and covered my back by bumping three or four booming rounds of buckshot into the monstrosities on the side of the house. We were surrounded, and I had doubts about us escaping. There was no way to get through them unless I burned a path, and that was what I intended to do. If it came to it, I would lie down and put the handgun to my head.
I dashed, avoiding as many of them as I could while laying down the line of fire. I didn’t have a lighter, and I hoped Scott did.
“You got some flame?”
“I don’t smoke,.”
Oh shit.
He ran to my side and stared at the horde before us. He looked at the grass, at the gas-drenched zombies, and then at me. Grinning, he lowered the gun, then took a step right up to one of them—a man missing half of his left arm and most of one cheek.
“Hello, asshole. Welcome to the bonfire.” Then he fired the shotgun into the ground at the thing’s feet. The resulting blast ignited the grass. The gas had become vaporous, and the flame spread quickly. It was probably just my imagination but I swear the zombie went from slack-faced to horrified in a half-second. It turned to move away from the flame but was consumed. It howled deep in its throat—an almost forlorn cry that stilled the day.
“We need to move!” I yelled at Scott. He didn’t need any further prodding and launched himself at the fence. We had to leap over the spreading flames, and I was scared that my pants would catch fire. I ran for it, but the blaze was spreading rapidly. It was also saving us, because the things were staggering away from the flames. There were a couple of them standing near the fence. Scott and I came on like a pair of linebackers. I hit one with my shoulder and barreled into a man around my age or maybe a few years younger.
Another snagged me from behind. Hand on my shirt but there was no grip and I shook it loose. I kicked back and felt a satisfying thump against a body. A glance over my shoulder told me it had been pushed back into the fire. It stared at the flames that licked at its cotton shirt, then shrieked and ran right into the rotting thing behind him, a woman in her sixties if she was a day. Then it was chaos as the zombies became the prey—a prey to fire. We were used to being on the run. Now it was their turn.
Scott kicked one in the chest. I slipped behind a zombie and pushed it toward the rapidly spreading flame. The guy was so rotted that his skin caugh
t on fire instantly, and the smell of sizzling bacon was in my nose. I was disgusted at myself for the way I practically drooled.
The reek of smoke was all around us, and I risked a glance back at the house. The yard was in flames, and it was only a matter of time before the fire took my pride and joy and burned it to a cinder. All the memories, both good and bad, all the stuff we had collected, all the house payments I had made toward our mortgage and property value, all my equity, gone the day the world went to the dead, and now I was going to baptize that old life in fire.
I drew my handgun and shot as I ran. The big shotgun boomed beside me, and I lost the hearing in that ear for a few seconds, but it splattered one of the things like a bucket of gore tossed against the fence. The zombie’s flesh hung from the chain link, making it look a slaughterhouse. Part of its head and something I was sure was brain matter also hung there. I wanted to be disgusted, but I had no time to think about it, no time to consider the human life that was splattered all over the place.
Smoke everywhere, and it was hard to catch my breath. We hit the fence with the flames behind us. It was the only route now, as they ran in pursuit of us. I scaled the chain link and did a neat flip that had much more to do with fear than acrobatics. Landed on my feet, and felt the impact blast up my legs. My left knee almost buckled, but I ran on regardless.
Dead ahead, dead and toasted behind. They were coming from both sides, but it was hard to tell which were after us and which were running from the smoke and flames. I fired at one that was snarling at me and caught it in the shoulder. He fell back, but not for long. I had to shoot him again, and, even running, I was able to put the bullet through his head at less than ten feet.
“Ghoul!” Scott shouted from my left. I followed his wide-eyed stare to my right. He turned toward me, and I veered away, trying to follow his lead. Sure enough, just to the side of the herd of zombies was one of the green-eyed creatures, and he did not look happy. With pasty, white skin, he was a real waxen nightmare of old and dead combined with something resembling a human.
I developed a new plan that didn’t involve escape. I hadn’t run into anyone who had a clue what these guys were up to. I wanted that green-eyed bastard in my hands, wanted to drag him back to the barricade and find out everything I could, even if it meant blowing his brains out to see what was in that head.
“Erik!” Scott called from my side, but I shot another zombie in the face and raced toward the ghoul. I was still a good thirty or forty feet away when it caught on that I wasn’t interested in just getting away.
I had to drop another, then I ducked as one came at me with arms open wide like it wanted a hug. I turned my run into a flying front kick that was just as pretty as you please and dropped the big zombie in his tracks. The boom of the shotgun behind told me the guy wouldn’t be getting up again.
Then there were a pair of them ahead, but I was dry. I didn’t have time to pull the assault rifle over my shoulder, and I was too close. By the time I got it up to my cheek to aim, the other would be able to close in on me and get a bite, so I tossed the handgun and drew my big knife.
With the blade touching the inside of my forearm, I held it in a reverse grip, then came in with a slash that took one of the women across the throat. It was so fast that she didn’t have time to react, and she fell back gurgling. The second one managed to loop a hand over my shoulder and pull me in. Her mouth was rancid, like old meat with teeth stuck in it. I saw brown crud growing between them and felt my stomach flutter. She looped her other hand around me, but I batted it aside. The knife was at my side, so I dragged it up, slashing into her stomach and tugging upward. I would like to say I felt a splash of warmth, but it was anything but. I’m sure her intestines fell out, but they felt like a bunch of cold snakes that wanted to wrap around my arm.
She didn’t seem to mind the wound that would have brought a normal person to her knees and left her bleeding to death. She held onto me like a vice. I hit her a couple of times with my left hand as I tried to dislodge her, but she wanted a piece of me. She snapped at my face, and I barely got my hand out of the way in time to avoid the bite.
I pushed her away and ripped the knife up. The blow was quick, and I think I cut through most of her forearm. She loosened her grip enough for me to get the knife out. When she tried to bite me the next time, I had my blade ready and cut her across the face, taking part of her lip off in the process. Then I reversed the blade and, with a whip like motion, drove the knife into her temple as hard as I could. It went in cleanly, and she dropped like someone had cut her strings. I dragged the knife free as she fell, and caught sight of the green-eyed ghoul. His eyes met mine. He snarled like a dog then turned and tried to run.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I yelled, anger burning beneath my skin. The rage of what these things had done to the human race was like acid.
I hit the ghoul from behind with a kick to his lower back. At the last second, I lessened the blow so that I wouldn’t snap his spine. He stumbled forward and hit the ground. He managed to get one hand out, but it snapped with an audible pop. I wasn’t messing around. Reversing the knife, I slammed the pommel into his temple. He tried to rise again, so I repeated the blow. The second one collapsed him.
The zombies had no brain, no pulse, no life. They were the walking dead, as improbable as that sounds. They were an abomination—a thing that should not exist. They were an offense against nature. These ghouls were worse; they were like the dead, only they had a brain of sorts. To my surprise, the ghoul beneath me was moving. His lungs rose and fell as he breathed.
What the hell were these things?
* * *
With the unconscious and stinking ghoul between us, we made our way back to the camp. We had to drag him, and at first I didn’t like the idea of his filthy skin touching mine. I was on the right and Scott on the left. The closer we got to the base, the more I wanted to put a bullet in this thing’s brain and leave him to rot.
Scott didn’t say much; he just grunted as we dragged the man. He glanced at the ghoul from time to time, and then at me. I didn’t offer any thoughts. I wasn’t even sure what had possessed me to capture the creature. A ghoul. I supposed that if I were a bastard, I could torture this thing. I didn’t relish the thought; I had no desire to do it. I had met people who could do it. I had met men who would grin and shake my hand, maybe clap me on the shoulder, and then go on to their torture devices.
My hand was on fire where I had brushed the burning grass. Adrenaline had helped me ignore the pain, but now it was back. My palm felt rough, and I was pretty sure there were blisters. I hoped the damage was minimal. It was hard to see, though, because my right hand was covered in soot. I wished I had a container of ice-cold water I could pour on the burn. And while I was wishing for stuff, I wished I were on vacation in the Bahamas with no zombies around.
“You guys have anything to drink back at the camp?” I asked Scott.
“A little. We got some cheap whiskey, the kind that comes in plastic jugs, but we save that shit for special occasions. Some days I would kill for a shot of tequila.”
“Drink of choice?”
“I’m Latino. What the hell do you think I like, Bud Light?”
“Name like Scott, that’s real Latino.”
“Mom thought it would be cool if we had names that fit into American society better. My sister is named Mary—or she was. I don’t know if she’s alive. I have a brother named Sean, and it’s spelled with an E-A just like Sean Connery. I think she liked his James Bond the best.”
“Who doesn’t?”
The thing between us stirred; his legs kicked. I considered smacking him upside the head again, but I was worried about killing him before we got back. We were across the field, and, when I looked back, the smoke was rising into the sky. I wondered how much of my old block I had just torched. At least the houses were spaced pretty well apart. My yard was separated from Edwards’s by a stone path that led back to the greenbelt. I
think the community had once thought of running a full walking path behind all the houses, but it never happened.
“Hold up. I’m worried about this thing waking up and biting one of us. Does the virus spread the same with these ghouls?”
“I don’t know, man. I think they ate some of the fucking dead flesh and the virus mutated in them or something. I haven’t heard of one of them biting anyone.”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
Yanking out the knife at my side, I used it to cut the thing’s sleeve off. We had to drop him, but he barely stirred. He smelled like rot, just like the zombies, but he had an undercurrent of something like old fish. His arm under the sleeve was white with massive patches of gray. He had open wounds that oozed pus, and I didn’t want one of those sores touching my clothing. It was bad enough having him between us.
I used the sleeve to gag the creature. It opened one eye, which blazed a shade of green. I wasn’t in the mood, so I drew back my arm and punched him in the temple. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
* * *
The barricade was buzzing when we got back. Men and women, armed to the teeth, patrolled the tops of cars and the perimeter. The air was filled with the shouts of the community as they came out of tents and houses.
“It’s Scott. Hold up!” My companion yelled as we approached. He raised one arm and waved it. I looked behind me at the mess we had left, but all I could see was a column of smoke slowly rising in the early morning breeze. The sky was crystal clear with the exception of a few light puffs of cloud.
People had long worried about the impact we had on the environment. That we were going to destroy it. One thing was for sure: Humans were a dying race, a breed that was bound to pass on like so many that had come before, but the earth would still be here long after us.
Beyond the Barriers Page 19
