Everyone turns their heads in the direction of the noise. The man behind me with his dirty fingers scrabbling across my face drops his hands and I’m able to see what’s coming.
It’s coming fast — sleek, black, ominous. The modern equivalent of death.
And the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Beatrice is fast, but she’s not as fast as the Hummer is. Neither are the others.
It’s one of those moments that happens so quick but so slow at the same time, like — and I hate to make this comparison — a movie.
The wheels kick up dust and dirt and blood as they barrel through the surrounding crowd of cannibals.
Beatrice lets out a screech and her gun goes off two times. She’s next. The Hummer slams into her, narrowly missing Abby, who I see is nudged out of the way by Darlene.
In that split-second, I can’t see anything besides a crumpled Beatrice, and my heart stops. Darlene and Abby have been hit — holy shit, I can hear their bones breaking.
Then the Hummer flies from my view and clobbers the remaining crowd of cannibals who are too stunned to move, and I see Darlene and Abby on the ground. Darlene huddles over Abby. Abby is unmoving, but they’re both alive, un-smashed.
Oh, thank God.
The one who is smashed by the Hummer is Beatrice and she’s not launched into the air. She’s caught under the tires. There’s a terrible sound that is like music to my ears — the sounds of breaking bones and Beatrice’s blood-curdling scream cut off to nothing. She twitches on the ground not too far from the girls.
The Hummer does this little gallop down to my right as more cannibals fall beneath its large tires.
One man just sort of stands there and lets the vehicle run him down. It’s actually quite sad and quite unbelievable.
The Hummer keeps going, until it crashes into a half-burnt building, knocking wood and stone into the air. The chrome bumpers are muted by blood.
The few remaining cannibals, after they pick their jaws up from the ground, unload on the Hummer. Bullets bounce off it almost the same way bodies bounced off its front fender. They shoot until their guns are empty. When the weapons make no noise, all but a couple run for it.
Doc Klein, you son of a bitch.
I turn back to where the ruined med center is. My heart is back to doing flips.
“Darlene!” I shout.
Norm is on his way over to me, dragging Herb. Herb looks around with eyes as big as his face, and that’s pretty damn big.
Then, Darlene starts moving, picking herself up.
Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, Doc Klein!
“We got a guardian angel, I think,” Norm says as he starts untying the ropes around my wrist. He’s not as slow as I’d expect a man with only nine fingers to be and the pressure relieves. I waste no time with small talk or even hugging my older brother. I bolt across the twenty or so feet of dirt and grab a weapon.
“Let’s do this,” Norm says. I see him go for Beatrice’s revolver. I’m not surprised to see her hand still attached to the butt of the weapon but her arm not attached to her body. Norm pries her fingers off of it, points, aims at the remaining cannibals, and pulls the trigger. The gun only barks once and the two cannibals still standing fall near the back tires of the smoking Hummer.
I didn’t even have to shoot. Man, I missed him.
Now it’s just us — my family and myself — standing among the chaos. I rush over and grab Darlene, pick her up off the ground, and spin her around.
“Are you okay? Oh, my God, are you hurt?” I’m saying and I’m sounding more and more like my grandmother.
“I’m fine!” she says.
I put her down and go to Abby. Abby is breathing but out cold.
“What happened?” I ask.
“They attacked last night,” Darlene says. She’s clutching Abby to her, putting the back of her hand over her forehead, grimacing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the world. All of this is my fault.
“It’s not your fault,” she answers back and the way she says it, I think she means it.
“Did anyone survive? I mean, did Mother…” I find myself saying. There’s a crack in my heart and blackness spills out, seizing control of my body. I don’t like the feeling. It’s during times like these I wish I didn’t care about anyone. Living without a conscience would make life in this day and age so much easier. But I do care, and sometimes that’s the greatest thing in the whole world.
“I don’t know, Jack,” Darlene says. “Her building was on fire, but it seemed like everything was on fire. They kept shouting your name. They kept screeching. Jack…it was horrible.”
I hug her, kiss her all over her blood-spattered cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” is all I can say.
I’m with them now, that’s all that matters.
Darlene kneels, Abby’s head rests on her thigh, but she hugs me back.
“Abby?” Herb says. He bends down and hugs her. Abby, on the other hand, doesn’t hug him back — she can’t.
Abby is not good. Her wound is bleeding, soaking through the dirty bandage. I run to the Hummer hoping I’ll either find Klein or the duffel bag full of medicine. I could risk going back into the med center, but the structure could fall at any moment. I learned my lesson in that respect.
“Jack!” Darlene shouts at me, but I’m already half the distance to the vehicle. I step over the dead cannibals, over body parts strewn on the ground and a river of blood. The Hummer’s windows are mostly shattered and the windows not shattered are starred. The fender is crumpled. Smoke drifts from under the hood. I open the door. There is no Klein. There is no bag. But there is a brick tied around the gas pedal. That clever son of a bitch.
The Hummer is damaged beyond repair. If we are going to get out of this ruined village and get Abby somewhere safe, then we are going to need a new ride.
“Thought I was gonna leave you?” a voice says from behind me. I get out of the car and turn around to see Klein. He’s smiling, holding two bags now — his messenger and the duffel bag full of antibiotics we procured from D.C. He has come from the shadows.
“Yeah,” I say. I probably sound like a total asshat, but at least I’m honest, right? And smiling.
“Me, too,” he says. He’s smiling, now, too.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Well, I thought to myself, ‘The odds, Bob, the odds!’ but then I remembered what you went through to save me last night and I decided I don’t want to be the man I used to be. I don’t want to be a yellow-bellied coward,” he says.
I walk over to him and stick my hand out. Both of our fingers are dirty and covered with blood, but we shake nonetheless. “I can respect that,” I say, and I can. In this world, you can’t be a coward. Not if you want to survive. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he says.
He hands me the duffel bag. I take it, noting its weight. It’s a good feeling. We have enough medicine to last us awhile. To at least last us a trip to the West Coast.
“I have one more favor to ask,” I say.
“Anything,” Klein says.
“One of my group is injured, can you help her?”
He nods. “I’d like to think — if it’s all right with you, that is — that she’s part of my group, too,” he says.
I smile again. “Of course.” I clap him on the back and we start walking to the others. Yeah, he might be crazy, but if you’re going to save the world, I think you have to be.
Nine
I’ve never seen Herb so happy. Hell, I’ve never seen Herb smile so wide, either. He’s found a long-lost friend, some semblance of his old life.
Herb sprints the rest of the distance to Doc Klein and I swear the earth shakes. He doesn’t care about the dead bodies around him. The crushed and mangled corpse of Beatrice. For that, I’m glad.
“Doc!” Herb shouts. His voice is high, almost alien. He sounds like a kid on Christmas morning.
>
“Oh, boy — ” Klein says, but Herb’s strangling bear-hug cuts him off. Herb has him in both arms. Klein’s face goes a deep shade of red, but he’s laughing.
I go to Darlene and Abby with the bag full of medicine. Norm is bent down next to Abby’s face, stroking her hair. Darlene holds her in her lap.
Abby is mumbling.
“Here,” I say, digging into the bag until I find hydrocodone. “For the pain, and it should knock her out. She needs sleep.”
Darlene has tears in her eyes. I feel like crying, too. Abby’s hurt and Darlene and I both hate to see it because as dangerous as it is to have one in the wastelands, we’re family.
“Glad to see you again, Doc,” Norm says, looking up from Abby’s ashy face.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jack,” Klein says.
Darlene smiles at me.
The Doc bends down in the dirt. “Let’s see,” he says. “She’s lost a lot of blood.” He starts taking the bandage off of Abby’s stump. It’s soaked, actually dripping. He throws it to the side. “She needs a transfusion,” he says.
“The med center,” Darlene says. “Phyllis gave her one a couple days ago when this first happened.”
“It’s not safe in there,” I say. I look over at the building. Puffs of gray smoke corkscrew up and away from it. The smell of burnt wood and melted plaster is prominent now.
“We don’t need to be in there,” Klein says. “Though, it would be ideal. However, I just need the supplies.”
Norm shoots up. “I’m on it,” he says.
“Do you know what you need?” Klein asks.
“This ain’t my first rodeo, pal,” Norm says.
Klein nods. “If the doctor was competent, she would’ve labeled Abby’s transfusion. Look for a medical — ”
“Chart, got it,” Norm says. He is already at the med center’s burnt threshold.
“Hurry,” Klein says. “It won’t be long until the dead are here.”
Hearing that is like a stab to my heart. The dead. It’s always the dead. They’re always around the corner.
I look down to Abby. Her eyes flitter. She’s mumbling more and more, delusional. We can’t stay here very long, and right now, we don’t have a ride.
“I’m going to go to the garage,” I say.
Darlene looks at me with eyes that say don’t go. But I have to.
“Will you be okay?” I ask her.
Darlene is pale, but she nods.
“I won’t be long,” I say. “We need to get out of here.”
Darlene nods again. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I answer, then turn to Herb. “Are you going to protect them, Herb?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. I see his large Adam’s apple bob up and down, hear the dry click in his throat.
“Herb?” I say again. “You’re strong. You’re brave. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”
“It’s not that, Jacky,” Herb says. The happiness in his voice is gone. Now, he speaks in monotone.
I bend down so I’m right in front of his face. There’s blood on his lip. I don’t know if it’s his blood. “What is it, Herb?” I ask.
Just then, Norm walks out of the med center. He’s holding a couple bags of blood, a clear IV tube, and a bundle of other medical supplies. I’m not sure what they are, but I think he is, so that comforts me. Abby will be all right, I think.
“It’s a lot of stuff,” Herb says.
“What stuff?” I ask.
“I just don’t want you to leave again, Jacky. Because sometimes I don’t think you’re gonna come back and when you’re gone Darlene is sad and I’m sad and I don’t like seeing her cry and I don’t like being sad, either,” Herb says.
Ouch. He’s right. I know he’s right, damn it, but I have to get a car. I have to get us out of here. The poor guy. Now I really feel like the world’s biggest piece of shit.
No one is looking, but I can tell Darlene and Klein are listening. I lean forward and hug Herb. It hurts me to leave again.
“When I get back, Herb, I’m never leaving again,” I say. “I promise.”
Ten
“I’ll come with you,” Norm says.
“No, I got this,” I say. “Stick around and keep them safe.” I say this last part a lot quieter.
“You know where the garage is?” he asks.
I point behind me at another smoking building, this one much bigger than all the rest, almost like a barn. “That’s it, right?”
Norm nods.
I remember passing it on my way to the armory yesterday. It’s crazy how so much can change so quickly.
“I won’t be long,” I say.
“You better not be,” Darlene says.
I lean down to kiss her, tasting blood on her lips. My skin prickles as it reminds me of the cannibals in D.C. But I’ll never have to worry about them again.
I hope.
Before I leave, I give Herb a reassuring nod. He nods back, and then I run for the garage.
I’m rounding a corner when I see the first glint of yellow eyes in the tree line. The day is bright, but inside of the forest, shaded by the canopy of leaves that seem to have sprouted up overnight, it’s dark.
I see one pair, two pair, three…and so on.
I shake my head and head for the garage. I see Mother’s hut near the ruined bandstand. I’m standing on a small hill, slightly looking down onto the destruction and chaos. This village is nowhere near as bad as D.C., but like the city, it’s in ruins. Seeing Mother’s hut and the bandstand I stood on a mere day ago brings this sickening feeling into the pit of my stomach.
I turn my head back to the forest. The yellow eyes are getting closer by the second and there seems like there’s more of them. I don’t have time to stand around and harp on my failures. I have to move on. The past is the past.
I get to the garage. The door is open. I see rows of cars. It’s nothing compared to Eden’s store of vehicles, but these cars seem to be in better shape. There’s not one car as bad as the van we took from there to here. Thank God. I settle for a Ford Explorer. The rest of the cars are small. The keys are over the visor. They practically fall in my lap as I sit down in the driver’s seat. It’s not often things go my way, but when they do, I’m grateful.
I pull out of the garage and as I’m turning right onto the dirt road, the first wave of zombies flood the town like a tsunami, more than I expected. My car is nothing but a Hey! Fresh Meat sign.
I don’t try to get cute. I don’t try to hop out of the Ford and kill them all or mow them down with my shiny new set of wheels. No, there’s no time. I go the opposite direction. There are some stragglers this way, but I weave through them easily enough. I’m heading in the direction of Mother’s place and the ruined bandstand, my heart swelling and deflating, swelling and deflating.
I start cutting the wheel to the right to go back to the group when I see something. Something I wish I hadn’t seen.
It’s Mother’s wheelchair. It’s overturned, the wheel closest to the sky wobbling. I stop the car and get out.
Two zombies come toward me. One is ancient, skin sagging, bone sticking out from their left arm. The other is freshly turned and someone I faintly recognize from my time standing on the bandstand and looking out toward the crowd. I think this man was a father and a husband. I remember him hugging his wife as Mother spoke of better times. Now look at this place. Now look at him.
I have a gun, but choose not to use it. Instead, I pick up a burnt and jagged two-by-four. The first zombie, the older looking one, lurches and I lean out of the way. He goes falling forward, almost tripping over his own feet. I clobber him in the back of the head with the two-by-four. The skull cracks and the zombie’s knees give out. He lays in the dirt twitching…dead.
The older ones are always the easiest to kill. They have the softest heads. That is, unless they have been sitting and baking in the sun all day like the zombie we had found in Doc Klein’s Honda on I-95.
His bloody shirt sways with his jerky movements. I raise the piece of wood above my head, seeing this zombie’s snarling mouth, the black spittle and blood dripping from his teeth, and I think to myself, Fuck this. Now I draw the gun. I just don’t have the energy to bash in another zombie’s head. I’m tired. I don’t have the time, either.
I squeeze the trigger. The man’s face eviscerates. Blood sprays. Teeth fly from the mouth. There’s a bigger hole now where the bottom of his jaw once was. He drops and I step over him.
The sounds of his blood trickling into the dirt is like a babbling brook. I try not to notice it. I try not to notice the sounds of the other zombies coming up behind me, either. They are far off, but it’s only a matter of time.
Besides, I have to check. I have to look for her. I just have to.
Mother is nowhere near the wheelchair and her hut is a pile of ash and rubble. I see the pictures of Christ that hung on the walls of her dining room, blackened. I even see the shiny, metal tray Grady had served us peanut butter crackers on.
I go around the back of what’s left of the building. There are bushes back here and a small garden. They are untouched by the flames. Smoke hangs heavy in the air. I see nothing as I scan the small patch of grass and vegetation.
As I turn away to head back to the car, feeling the weight of the world still on my shoulders and the first wave of blackness that is guilt and depression starting to drown me, I hear something.
I stop, turn around.
Now, I’m seeing something. Something moving.
Coughing followed by soft laughter.
Beneath the bushes, clutching what looks like a small pot, is Mother. She is bloody around the stomach, gut-shot.
I rush over to her, feeling the tears bursting from the corners of my eyes. Who could do such a thing? Who could gun down an ancient woman, one as majestic as Mother?
“Mother!” I say.
All she does is cough in return.
The Dead Collection Box Set #1: Jack Zombie Books 1-4 Page 62