Yet, as Ram drove around the many obstructions in the streets he hardly saw upwards of a hundred and these were like their suburban neighbors and seemed content to mosey about as if in a fog. Though to be on the safe side he either steered well clear of them or crushed them beneath the wheels of his beastly SUV.
Although he was thankful for the lack of zombies the constricted streets had his head beginning to pound, which in turn made his stomach feel all the worse. Frequently he had to stop the truck as a shiver of steel seemed to lance through his innards, and once he had to race into a nearby bank to squat in a pitch black bathroom stall in order to relieve himself of a mass of watery stool.
He came out sweating and moaning. “Just a little longer,” he pleaded with the universe as he started the hummer up again. His pleadings went unanswered and he grew ever sicker as he wound slowly along not bothering to pay much attention to where he was going. It didn't matter whether he paid any attention or not: his route had been chosen for him. The streets were clogged in such a way that he had only two options: forward and back.
Fifteen minutes from the bank a disabled pick-up truck resting on deflated tires forced him off the street and into an alley where the next obstruction was a dumpster. Thankfully this was the sort of dumpster that had wheels. Ram hopped down from the hummer to push aside the obstruction and that was when a man emerged from the shadows, pointing a gun square into his face.
“That was easy enough,” the man said with a grin.
Ram had to agree. He’d been caught so effortlessly that he had to wonder if the virus had already begun to destroy his brain. He was about to make a pleasant greeting when a second man came up from behind him and smashed him in the side of the head with something heavy.
The once DEA agent dropped like a rock and found himself staring up as though from the center of the world or from the bottom of a vortex. The dark clouds above turned wide circles, while nearer at hand the buildings leaned in and raced around Ram, faster and faster. The two black men were joined by a third and it felt as though Ram was on a merry-go-round.
Moaning he put a hand out to one of the men who slapped it away.
“Shit, Trey! Now we’re gonna have to carry his sorry ass,” the man said.
“Just…just a minute,” Ram said, blearily as he tried to sit up, but failed. “I’ll be…ok.” Somewhere in his rattled mind he thought he had done something wrong.
The man who had hit him, the one called Trey, dropped a brick onto the floor of the alley and then smiled benignly, saying, “See that? He’ll be ok in a minute. In the mean time I don’t think you’ll be needing that gun anymore.” Trey frisked him and when he didn’t find anything beyond the gun his smile disappeared.
“Ain’t nuffin in the hummer, neither,” said the third man. “Not even no gas.”
“Shit,” Trey said.
“Shit,” the third agreed. “No guns, no gas, no food? What the fuck?” It was a moment before Ram understood that: What the fuck was a question rather than an exclamation and that it was directed at him.
“Oh, I’m supposed to be finding someone…I think,” he said. Just then his mind was so rattled that he couldn’t remember who it was he was supposed to be finding. “Julia?” he asked, but then remembered she was dead. She had been killed by Cassie…now it all came rushing back.
“Don’t know no fuckin, Julia,” Trey said. “But if I did I’d fuck the shit out of her and turn her into grey-meat before giving her back to you.”
Ram took all this in with slow blinking eyes. “Right,” he said at last as the world stopped its mad turning. “I’m not actually here for her. I’m supposed to be brokering a cease fire between you and the Whites.”
One of the men snorted. “Damn Trey, you scrambled this mother-fucker’s eggs. He don’t even know what color he be and shit.”
Trey laughed as well. He squatted down in front of Ram and asked, “Have you seen a mirror lately. Sorry to break it to you spic-n-span but you ain’t white.”
“I know,” Ram said. “I’m not from Philadelphia, so I’m not a part of all this. I was just trying to do the right thing. I’m supposed to see your leader and set up a meeting.” John had suggested a month long cease fire followed by a meeting on the Passyunk Bridge to try to hammer out a real truce.
To this, the first man who had stopped Ram said nothing but only sneered at him with a deep hatred brewing behind his eyes. Trey made a noise of disgust. “Shit, that ain’t happening. She gots a hard-on for killing Whitey.”
Ram’s face went hard. “She? Your leader’s a woman? Is her name…”
Without warning, the tall quiet one stepped forward and kicked Ram in the chest; his steel-toed work boots sent Ram to the paved floor of the alley and left a wide boot print square in the middle of his shirt.
Trey nodded along gently as Ram struggled for breath. “Let me interpret the meaning of Jermy’s foot for you Mister Spic-n-span. I think he was trying to let on that it’s us who’ll be asking the questions, and it’s you who will be doing the answering. That right Jermy?”
“That’s right,” Jermy intoned. “Let’s get him moved.”
Before Ram was even half recovered the three men hoisted him and carried him across the alley to a playground behind the local elementary school. It had been a somewhat rundown schoolyard even before the apocalypse, but now it looked as though a tornado had struck. There seemed to be more of the school littering the playground than was left inside. Desks, chalkboards, chairs, and kindergartener’s cubbies were flung about or stacked in piles as tall as a man.
Ram was brought through all this and then stood up against a tetherball pole in the center of the playground. Jermy stooped and pulled off one of Ram’s shoes and yanked out the laces. While he was tying Ram’s hands together behind his back, Trey covered him with the Beretta and the other man kept watch.
When Ram got his breath back enough to wheeze Trey leaned in close and warned in a quiet voice, “Not too loud, my Brother. There’s a jillion little zombies in there. I mean the little, little ones, Pre K and shit. If they hear you they’ll come swarming out and let me tell you those little fuckers are hungry. The problem is they’re so short they’ll start their feast just below the belt. Ya dig?”
As his balls tried to retreat up into his body Ram nodded. “Yeah, I get it. But you have to believe me, I’m not your enemy. I’m not from Philly; I’m from California.”
“You’re from Cali? Must be nice,” Trey said with a smile. It was an evil smile that Ram in no way trusted. “Was it as nice as that gay-ass country club the Whites hang out at?”
“I never went in…it looked nice from the outside. Like a palace, sort of.”
The tall quiet one had finished tying Ram’s hands together around the pole; they were already turning the purple of a drowned man. “He be lying. He ain’t never been to the Whites place,” the man said, simply.
Trey blew out with a dismissive sound. “Like I don’t know that.” He then turned back to his prisoner and sent his fist into Ram’s face. Ram’s knees buckled and he dropped onto his butt.
“You like that? Huh? Do you?” Trey asked in a hard voice. “Cuz if you don’t give me the truth, I got more of that. A whole lot more. Now, look at me.” He took Ram’s hair and pulled his head back so that he was forced to stare up into Trey's pitiless black eyes. “We’ll start simple. How many men do you Spics gots?”
Ram shook his head and steeled himself for the next blow. “Twenty thousand.”
Trey gave him a what can you do look and then punched Ram again in the face.
“Son of a bitch,” Ram seethed. He knew how this was going to go: he would be tortured and then when he was used up he would be fed to the zombie children. “Son of a bitch,” he said again, this time quieter. His life since the apocalypse felt wasted. Everything he had cherished had been destroyed, and now his death would be a waste as well. There would be no getting close to Cassie now…not as a human anyway.
The thou
ght gave him an idea, a very bitter idea. “One more,” he said to Trey. “I’m not feeling it. Come on, right in the kisser.” With this he bared his teeth, giving his enemy an easy target. Trey smirked and then hit him again. The blow dazed Ram so that he sagged to the side.
Shaking his hand, Trey asked, “Was that better?”
His knuckles were bleeding. Ram saw the blood and the cuts and sneered, “Yeah. Now let Jermy give it a try. I’ll tell you who can hit harder. But you got make it in the same spot so it’s fair.” The right canine and the front tooth next to it were both loose and he figured he’d lose them with the next punch. It was worth it to infect a couple of Cassie’s foot soldiers. He hoped they would go back and turn into stiffs among the rest of them; they’d been the ultimate Trojan horse.
Jermy stepped up, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand and Ram clenched his teeth. Unfortunately he did so with an expectant smile.
“Wait!” Trey cried, grabbing his friend’s arm. He wore a stunned expression as realization set in. “He wants you to hit him.”
“No shit,” Jermy said shrugging off the hand.
Trey grabbed him again. “But why? Why would he want that? What’s the only reason he’d want us to hit him in the mouth?”
The man who’d been keeping watch answered. “Maybe he’s infected. Maybe he’s trying to get you-all infected. Nigga, let me see your hand.”
“No….he’s faking,” Trey said, pointing with his left hand while his right, he hid behind his back. “He’s trying to mess with us. Think about it, Omar. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were getting jacked up?”
“If I’m faking then Jermy won’t mind taking a swing,” Ram challenged. When the tall man took a step back instead, Ram hocked up a good loogie and spat it at him, hitting him in the side of the face. He grinned a bloody grin as Jermy went into a frantic dance trying to wipe the bloody spit away with his jacket. He then tore off the jacket and flung it away.
In a fury, Jermy came stalking back with gun drawn, however Omar stopped him. “No one fuckin’ move,” he said with his gun pointed, amazingly enough, at Trey who looked at it with huge eyes. “I need your gun, Trey. You know our laws. We don’t let anyone back in who’s been bit.”
“He’s faking it!” Trey cried. ‘You know he is.” Omar’s gun didn’t budge an inch.
“I got scratched this morning,” Ram said matter-of-factly. “I only have a couple hours left. It’s one of the reasons why I volunteered to come here.”
Jermy, who was right in front of Ram, looked to Omar for guidance. Omar jerked his head toward Trey. "I guess I need that gun you got," Jermy said.
Trey dropped his chin down to his chest as the gun fell out of his hands. Before he could change his mind, Jermy bent quickly to pick it up. In a second it was unloaded, even the chambered round was jacked out of it.
Trey looked at it and shook his head. “No, I don’t need it. He’s faking. You’ll see.”
“Here, take it,” Jermy demanded. He forced the gun into Trey's hand and then stuck the single bullet into his front pocket. “Don't puss out, nigga. You know what you need to do...or do you want me to take care of you?"
Trey backed away in something of a daze. "No. I'm good. I gots this. I gots..." his words trailed off and then he turned and fled as if Jermy was bent on killing him.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Ram called after him. “I’m sorry.”
“You can shove that sorry up your ass,” Omar said. “It’s your kind what started all this, so don’t expect me to do you any favors. Come on Jermy. You need to wash yourself better.”
“But the ropes,” Ram said as they walked away. “You can’t leave me here alone. Please.”
Omar turned. “You want company? Alright, you got it.” He stooped and picked up a stone half the size of an apple and whipped it at the school where it struck an upper floor window. The crash of glass was alarmingly loud. What was worse were the faces that began to appear in the windows.
They were little kid faces, only they had been warped by death and disease and now they were feral, sharp toothed little beasts, and they were very hungry. They came to feast.
Chapter 8
Jillybean
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
A minute after the glass came crashing down, interrupting the still afternoon, the first magic marble left her hand, over the objections of the zebra.
Ever since she heard the car pass overhead, Jillybean had been in a state of the rawest excitement. First there had been smoke, and smoke meant people. Then came the car, and cars definitely meant people. And lastly there were voices drifting down the drain pipes! Voices only came from people.
You should be careful, Ipes cautioned. Just don’t go running up there.
What a nervous-nelly, she thought to herself. Aloud she said, “I’ll be careful of the monsters, but not people. That’s just silly.” It turned out that there wasn't a chance to just go running up anywhere. The two of them couldn’t a find a way up to the street that wasn’t blocked. In the black beneath the earth the pair went in circles until Jillybean had enough and turned on the heavy flashlight—again over Ipes’ objections. The light helped greatly and the two found a feeder tunnel that opened up on the far side of the school.
“Which way?” she asked from between two rusting relics that had once been cars.
Ipes made a humph noise as he was want to do when he felt put upon. If I tell you, will you even listen? he asked. She promised she would and so he directed her unerringly around the two-story school. And that was when he was proved sadly right about the necessity of being careful around humans. We should go, he said as Ram took another punch to the face by Trey.
“But they’re hitting that man,” she replied.
And what would you do about it? Are you a gun fighter or a ninja? No. You’re a little girl and little girls do not fight. Now come on. I never thought I would yearn for a sewer like some sort of abysmal rat, but it is what it is.
The little girl refused to budge. “We can’t just leave him. He might need our help somehow,” she argued. In this she was proven right not two minutes later. The three black men left, but not before one threw a rock in a high rainbow arc at the school. Jillybean cringed at the sound, however the cringe turned into a look of horror as monsters came hurrying down out of the building.
“Ipes! They’re kid monsters," she cried in horror. "Oh no. Look at them. Look at them, they’re so gross.” She was so terrified by the sight of them that she froze, hunkered down, turning rabbit against her will.
It was the cautious zebra that focused her once again. They are indeed. Now we should get going.
Her first thought was: To where? She had no clue where she was, only a vague idea of where she had been, and was afraid to think of where she was going, especially alone as she was.
She replied to the zebra with a simple: “No.” And then she fished out the first magic marble and kissed it. The little zombies, fourteen in all, had exited a side door and were just nearing the corner of the building and would see the man, who was alone and standing against a pole, in a second if she didn’t do something.
With a grunt, she threw the marble at the school with the full intention of having the monsters turn in her direction—which was exactly what they did. Like a gaggle of BFFs the zombies changed direction in midstride as though part of a gruesome clique and followed the sound of the marble, eagerly.
They came dangerously close to the hiding girl and now she took a wild chance and hucked another marble, this time down the very street she crouched upon. Thankfully the monsters went after the retreating marble without looking once in her direction. The little girl slunk to the far end of the car and watched them go through two sets of aged and dirty glass.
Now’s our chance, Ipes said, however Jillybean stopped suddenly. She'd had a queasy feeling in her tummy that had been growing for most of the afternoon and now it doubled her over. She gasped in pain. Are you alrigh
t? the zebra asked. You’re white as a ghost.
The feeling passed as quickly as it came and she assured her friend that she was ok. She then ran around the end of the building with her backpack flouncing on her back and her brown hair whipping about crazily from a new wind.
Surprisingly the man glared at her, and as she came up he lashed out with his long legs trying to kick her. Careful, he might be crazy, Ipes warned.
“You think so?”she wondered, with the zebra clutched in her skinny arms protectively and keeping just out of reach from his legs.
It sure seemed that the man was nutty, especially when he asked the strangest question: “You can talk?”
Ipes was perplexed at the question. Does he mean me or you?
Jillybean shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Who are you talking to, Mister?”
Where before the man had ogled Jilly with wide-eyed bewilderment, now he blinked slowly as if in partial understanding, and then he lifted his head and stared over her. “For a moment I thought you were one of those zombies,” he intoned with a voice that was dry and empty as a corn husk. He dropped his gaze back to the girl and added, “You should get out of here. They’ll come back soon.”
“I could untie you,” she said and then skirted around him, keeping her distance out of fear of his feet until she was straight on to his back. She then went at the knots with her tiny fingers, however they proved ineffectual compared to the strength of the bindings.
When she made a noise of frustration the man turned around the pole and she stepped back timidly. His face scared her. It was swollen and misshapen on one side, and there was blood, and the eyes were mostly empty of thinkings so that he appeared to her as half a monster on the way to becoming a full one.
“You tried, now get out of here before they come back. I heard them on the other side of the school.”
With a flutter of fear growing in her chest, she looked past the man at the building, while her feet took involuntary steps away. However it was then that Ipes spoke up as contradictory as ever. Since we’re here, we might as well save him. Those are only shoelaces he’s tied with. Find some sharp glass and we can cut him free.
The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors Page 7
