I stopped four or five feet away from the head and pulled out Sally. The pale zombie eyes noticed me come into view, bulged excitedly in their darkly bruised sockets. A gargling sound escaped from what was left of the old woman’s throat, along with small chewed up bits of Sam’s wrist. Without a body, once the food went into the mouth, it had nowhere to go but back out the throat.
I turned around as I heard footsteps coming up behind me, sloshing in the water.
It was Ted. He had come out to pay his respects.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, seeing the head. “Good God almighty. She’s still alive?”
I nodded. “Sort of.”
“How could she survive that? Man, that’ll give you nightmares.”
“I already told Robinson. Now it’s time the rest of you know.”
“Know what?”
“There are two stages to the infection. This is the second stage.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Of course you don’t. I’ll explain more in a minute.”
I aimed Sally at the severed head. Pulled the trigger. The dissociated life in Edith’s eyes left instantly as the bullet burrowed itself into her head, shearing off part of her skull. Fragments of bone skipped away in a small puddle of water.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Get some towels or something!” I heard Robinson yell, as Ted and I returned to the porch. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
Sam was lying on a porch swing, staring up at the wooden roof, trembling. His clothes were soaked with mud and water. His hair, once a crazy gray mess, was still a crazy gray mess, only now much of it fell forward against his face in brown muddy clumps. His skin had lost a lot of its former color. His eyes became heavy, as awareness threatened to leave him. I knew within minutes he’d probably develop a fever, if he didn’t already have one. And minutes after that…
Poof! Old Sam would go to sleep forever, and new Sam would wake up.
“I wouldn’t worry about stopping the bleeding,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. “You can’t save him anyway. He’s gone.”
Robinson backed away from Sam, joined the rest of us in the half circle we had formed around the swing. Naima came outside with some towels. Realizing it was too late, she dropped them on to the deck and cautiously walked up and stood with us, watching in silence as the last vestiges of life in Sam departed this cruel world.
“How long?” Robinson asked.
I checked my watch. 2:13 p.m. “Maybe five minutes,” I replied, glancing over at Peaches.
“That sounds about right,” she said. “At least it was for Nicole, anyway.”
“Who is Nicole?” Ted asked. “What’s going on?”
With the rain and thunder providing the soundtrack, I told them about the missing bodies in the road, about the eaten bodies, about Nicole and her dead husband locked in the shed, about my theory of the virus mutating to keep the host alive. Peaches then helped me explain to everyone what we had witnessed back at the camp. How the little girl had come back from the dead, having survived a shot to the heart. How she had bitten Nicole. How Nicole had careened off the red cliff of death as quickly as Sam had. And how she had risen from that fate moments later, hungry.
“So let me get this straight, you’re saying in a minute Sam here’s gonna wake from the dead?” Ted asked.
“I don’t believe it,” Aamod said.
“Believe it,” I said. “How else would you explain the old woman over there?”
“I didn’t help dig the grave,” Aamod said. “I was out front. So how can I explain what you did or didn’t do? She was probably still alive, just in a coma like the rest of them. And then you buried her and she woke up. Simple as that.”
“That does make the most sense,” Ted said.
“I never said it made any sense,” I replied. “Only that it was the truth. I’ve seen it.”
“So have I,” Peaches added.
“I think they’re right,” Robinson said. “I didn’t want to believe it when he first told me, but I can’t make any better sense of it. Question I have is … shouldn’t we just kill Sam now before he wakes up and causes us more problems?”
“We should, yes,” I said. “But not this time. I think everyone needs to see it with their own eyes, now rather than later. So we can all be aware of what we’re up against.”
“Okay then … but to be safe, I’m gonna throw these on him.” Robinson slid out a pair of handcuffs, presumably the same handcuffs we’d used to secure my grandma to his dining room chair a few nights ago, and snapped one cuff on Sam’s good wrist and the other around the metal base of the porch swing. Then he rejoined us on the opposite end.
“Be ready,” I said. “Remember, only head shots will stop them. Robinson, I’ll let you do the honors this time.”
“Gee thanks.”
I checked my watch again. 2:18 p.m. Five minutes had passed and Sam was still stiff as a board. Don’t fail me now, old man. Not after I’d given my best speech. Don’t make me look stupid.
From inside the house, Olivia began crying.
“Looks like somebody’s up,” Peaches said. She began heading inside but Naima stopped her.
“I’ll go take care of her,” Naima said. “I don’t want to see this anyway. I believe you, Jimmy.”
Thanks, I believed me too. Now if we could just get Ted on board, and Aamod, who for some odd reason followed his daughter into the house. Was he going to help with the baby? That was a scary thought. He didn’t seem the nurturing type.
Peaches settled back behind me and started rubbing my back. It felt nice.
Come on Sam. Your alarm clock should have went off by now. Time to do the impossible. It’s wakey wakey time.
Aamod came back outside with the shotgun in his hands. Since Bowser had ripped it away from him, he must have felt the phantom pain of it being gone. The gun had become like an appendage to him, a third arm.
“Don’t,” Robinson said. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
Aamod nodded, but Bowser still eyed him with suspicion.
I was too focused on the extraordinary work Peaches was doing on my back to worry about Aamod. For a moment, I shut my eyes and focused on nothing but her hands massaging me and the soothing sound of the falling rain. Oh, how nice it would be to take an afternoon nap, perhaps with Peaches by my side, curled up under a blanket. Was that too much to ask? The way she was moving her fingers up and down my spine I thought maybe it wasn’t.
Of course, I’d have to wonder about that later, as Sam finally decided it was time to reanimate.
He came awake slowly, grunting and groaning as he sat up, taking in his surroundings. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and then down and back up again, as though he had little control over them. He struggled to stand, slipped and fell. The handcuffs didn’t allow him much room to move, which was good for us, especially once he noticed us huddled together on the other end of the porch. He yanked at the cuffs with every bit of strength he had, moaning, wanting desperately to get us between his teeth, but couldn’t break free.
Perhaps the only good thing about this second stage of the infected was their reduced motor skills. Being a walking corpse, they weren’t particularly strong, fast, or coordinated in any way, and their bodies were basically sacks of soft, dead flesh, easy to damage and dismember. However, what they lacked in dexterity, or physical prowess, they made up for in desire.
Sam pulled and pulled at the handcuffs. The metal dug into his hand, shaving off the skin little by little. The swing beneath him rattled and shook. I didn’t think he’d be able to tear the base of the swing off. If anything, it was his hand that might come off, and he seemed perfectly content to lose it if that’s what it took to break free.
Robinson removed his pistol and pointed it at Sam.
“Shoot him in the chest,” I said.
“But—”
“I just want you to
see.”
Robinson gripped the gun tight with both hands and fired a round into Sam’s chest. The force of the shot forced Sam off his wobbly feet and back on to the swing.
“Again,” I said.
As Sam tried to stand back up, Robinson pulled the trigger a second time, sending him right back down into a sitting position. The bullet tore through the old man’s soaking wet overalls and lodged itself somewhere in his chest, perhaps in one of his many organs that no longer worked—organs that weren’t even a necessary requirement for life anymore.
The third shot completed the triangle of holes in his chest, but the old man wasn’t impressed. He was still coming, tugging even harder at the cuffs, having already torn half of his hand off.
That’s what I mean by desire, folks.
Old Sam was a weeping, sad, pathetic, hillbilly mess. New Sam could give a fuck about a few bullet holes. So what. No big deal. Just a flesh wound.
“Okay … has everybody seen enough?” It wasn’t really a question. I knew they had. “To the head.”
Robinson took longer to aim than I expected, making me concerned that Sam might break free of the handcuffs before he got the shot off. And what if Robinson missed? I reached for Sally just as he pulled the trigger.
He might have taken his sweet ass time, but his aim was true.
Thankee, gunslinger.
Sam’s head snapped back, sending mud flying from his hair. He fell against the swing one last time, rocking it into motion. He came to a rest in a pretzel like twist, limbs going every which way.
Robinson took a slow, deep breath. “That was…”
“Unbelievable,” Aamod said.
“Yeah,” I said. “You trust me now?”
Aamod shook his head and said, “No,” without the slightest hesitation. Then he walked up and began inspecting Sam’s corpse.
“Well … guess we won’t have to worry about taking too much gas now,” Ted said. “Once this rain stops, that is.”
Just like Ted to always think ahead.
Hey, that rhymed.
“I don’t suppose you want those handcuffs back,” Bowser said.
Robinson smirked. “No, I think I’ll leave them here. They’ve seen enough action.”
“You got a second pair, don’t you?” I said.
Robinson winked at me and then walked inside the house. The rest of us followed. All but—
BANG!
We all ducked for cover, hands over our ears.
I nearly jumped into Peaches’ arms, glad that my pants were already wet in case I pissed them.
“What the fuck!” Robinson yelled, spinning around fast.
Aamod came around the corner and stood in the doorway, light smoke drifting out of the barrel of his shotgun.
“What in the fuck was that about?” Robinson said angrily.
Aamod leisurely walked by us and said in the flattest of tones, “Just making sure.”
The Destroyer need not offer any further explanation, and none of us were brave enough to peek outside and find out exactly what just making sure meant. But I think—no, I know—we all had a pretty good idea.
By the 3 o’clock hour, it had stopped raining, and we were finally ready to get back on the road, blow this Popsicle stand for good.
Robinson and Ted drove the SUV’s around to the back of the property, parked them in front of Sam’s shed, and began transferring gas from the large fifty-gallon barrels to the cars. It was a slow process, and instead of standing around and watching, the rest of us searched the house for anything useful we could take with us. We went through the bedrooms, the closets, the kitchen cabinets. Aamod even peeked up into the attic. What we found we set near the front door, mostly food and first aid supplies. Unfortunately, Sam and Edith didn’t have any adult diapers that we could cut down to size for Olivia, so we’d still have to find somewhere to stop that sold baby stuff.
Robinson came in through the patio door just as Peaches and I finished combing the pantry for canned food.
“Thought I’d feed Jax,” he said. He had a round plastic container in each hand, one with food, the other water. “Before I forget.”
“What is that?” I asked, looking down into the bowl with the food.
“MRE. Sausage gumbo I think.”
“Looks disgusting.”
“He won’t think so. Probably give him gas though.”
“Oh, wonderful. You know we’re gonna be trapped in the car with him in a little bit,” I said.
Robinson shrugged. “He’s gotta eat.”
“You’re at least in the front seat. He’ll be in the back with us.”
“Sorry about your luck. You can drive if ya want. Long as you don’t get us into any head on collisions with parked cars.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“You can ride with Ted … and Aamod.”
“Hmm. Pass.”
“Okay then, don’t complain. I usually feed Jax twice a day, and he didn’t eat when we stopped off earlier. I’ll get him some regular dog food once we find somewhere to stop. We’ll be on the coast in under an hour, less we get held up.”
“Don’t say that,” Peaches chimed in. “I’d like the rest of the day to go smoothly.”
I nodded. “What she said.”
“Well, I’ll let you two finish in here. Ted should be done siphoning the gas soon. Where’s Jax?”
“He’s sleeping in the master bedroom with Olivia,” Peaches replied. “He likes to keep her company. He’s her little protector.”
“That’s cute,” Robinson said, and then sauntered out of the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, Ted was finished filling the gas tanks. He pulled the SUV’s back around front so we could load up the supplies we’d cherry-picked from the house. After, Peaches went back inside to get Olivia, careful not to wake her, while the rest of us made one final sweep to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything.
Olivia’s baby bag? Check.
Jax’s makeshift dog bowls? Check.
Aamod’s shotgun? Double check.
“Okay, we good to go?” Ted asked. Everyone nodded. “If you gotta use the restroom, better do it now.”
He was like a dad making sure us kids were in line before piling into the car to head off on vacation.
Ted’s post-apocalyptic family vacation.
“Last chance to get those handcuffs,” I said.
“Go for it,” Robinson replied. “There yours if you want them.”
“Um, I wouldn’t recommend going out there,” Ted said. “It’s not pretty.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Robinson added. “It’s absolutely revolting. And let me tell you I’ve seen some grim scenes in my line of work.”
“Worse than the old woman’s head?” I asked.
Robinson and Ted exchanged a glance.
“I think so,” Ted said. “Have you ever heard of Gallagher?”
“No.”
“That’s not surprising. You’re a little young. Gallagher was this comedian who would use a large mallet to smash fruit on stage, mainly watermelons. It always got a laugh. Pieces would fly everywhere, often out into the crowd.” He paused. “You see where I’m going with this?”
“Yeah, you’re saying Aamod did a great impersonation of this comedian guy.”
“Exactly. Only he didn’t use fruit and it wasn’t funny. Otherwise … spot on.”
We weren’t back on the road long before civilization, or the last remains of it, reared its ugly head again. Gone were the two lane county roads that snaked through miles and miles of lush green trees. Back were the endless number of abandoned cars and ravaged properties—the occasional black smoke in the sky, and the burning smell that accompanied it. And who could forget everyone’s favorite, the infected.
The towns we passed through were much smaller than Orlando, so the groups of infected weren’t nearly as large. Nor did they seem too concerned with us as we rolled by. Unless you did something to set them off, they’d usually just
keep walking, keep heading north. Still, we kept our eyes open. Remained vigilant.
Due to the decreased volume of cars, at least compared to the mess in the city, we were finally able to connect with Highway 50 in a town called Brooksville. According to Ted, who would chirp in every now and then over the walkie-talkie, we could ride 50 west the rest of the way to the gulf coast. It turned out to be no more than a thirty-minute drive.
“Bravo team,” Ted said over the radio.
“Go ahead,” Bowser said back.
Ahead of us, Ted pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a small shopping plaza. “There’s a little mom and pop store here. Looks untouched. Might have the baby stuff we need.”
Robinson slowed down, followed Ted into the parking lot. The plaza had only three stores. A tattoo shop, a bail bondsman, and what appeared to be a local grocery store. We pulled as close to the building as possible and then got out of the car.
From the outside, the mom and pop grocery didn’t look much bigger than your average gas station. Once inside, it felt even smaller. And while Ted was right that it didn’t look like looters had ransacked the place—nothing looked broken or trashed—the lack of useful items to take was probably the reason why. The store smelled like old dust and dead dreams, as though the owners had closed up shop and deserted the place long before the virus swept into town.
“This is lovely,” I said, walking the cramped aisles, wiping away the dust and checking the dates on the occasional item. “All of this stuff is expired.”
“You think diapers can go bad?” Peaches asked.
“They go bad all the time,” I said. “Usually not long after Olivia eats.”
Peaches smiled. “You know what I mean.” She went ahead of me, around to the next aisle.
We left the store moments later, diaper-less. In fact, there was no baby stuff at all.
“Not a total waste of a stop though,” Robinson said, carrying two medium sized bags of dog food, one over each shoulder.
“Is it in date?”
“Don’t know. Jax won’t care anyway.”
Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage Page 14
