Live your own life, people. Move out from the shadows of the oppressive.
The Sheriff approached the counter and Stan Hadley stepped away, making room for the big bastard.
“What can I do for you Sheriff?” Roy asked, plainly.
“You can shut your fucking mouth and wipe the grin from your face.” The Sheriff said. He looked horrible, his hair was all matted down and his skin was pale. He looked sick with a fever, Paul didn’t like how bad he looked and he really didn’t like the way he was speaking in front of his boys. The Sheriff was a jerk but he wasn’t known for being quite that obscene, especially in front of children.
“Watch your language! I got my kids here.” Paul fired back.
Sheriff Baxter turned his attention to Paul; he stared at him for what felt like a long time. Then the Sheriff started to cough, it was unlike any coughing spell Paul had heard before. Very deep, long coughs sloshing forward from inside the Sheriff’s diaphragm. The people standing around the Sheriff backed away slowly, giving him room.
“You don’t sound too good Sheriff.” Roy said.
The Sheriff stopped coughing and raised up his head, long strands of snot were running from his nose. The Sheriff leaned forward and spit out a horribly large amount of mucus onto the counter. The snot wad hit the counter with a large wet slapping sound. Everyone in the store gasped out loud.
“Oh fucking gross!” Stan Hadley cried out, grasping his tooth brush close.
Paul put his hands on the backs of Eddie and Shawn, making sure they were still standing on both sides of him.
“Come on boys we’re leaving.” Paul said, knowing the Sheriff was sick. He thought this could be the disease, the big one. He needed to get his children to safety.
“Oh no. You fuckers aren’t going anywhere!” Sheriff Baxter yelled and then in a split second pulled out his shiny silver 445 revolver. He aimed it directly at Paul’s head.
“We need to have a little talk, smart ass.” The sick Sheriff said.
“Whoa, Sheriff put that gun away!” Roy strained to keep his voice calm.
Sheriff Baxter then changed his target, pointing the barrel of his gun at Roy Benton.
“These two assholes are going to leave town. They’re deserters! They’re heading to a cabin; they don’t give a fuck about Green Falls!” The Sheriff screamed; making sure everyone in the hardware store clearly heard him.
“Jesus Christ put down the gun, Sheriff.” Roy said, under his breath. He was staring down the barrel of the Sheriff’s gun, praying he wouldn’t pull the trigger.
The shock of the situation finally left Paul. He was standing there watching the Sheriff hold up a gun to his best friend’s face.
“I’m going to fix you Roy. I never liked you. I always knew you were fucking fake. You are a liar and a fucking fake piece of shit.” The Sheriff blurted out, but then he went into another coughing spell.
This was Paul’s window of opportunity.
He swiftly pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Sheriff Baxter.
“Put your fucking gun away.” Paul yelled at him, keeping the gun pointed at the Sheriff‘s chest.
The Sheriff stepped back and quickly turned his aim back to Paul and in this split second Paul knew he had to pull the trigger. The crazed and sick Sheriff was going to shoot him for sure. Paul quickly squeezed the trigger of his gun, but realized that the safety was still on. God-Damn Safety! Fuck! His gun didn’t fire and he didn’t have a chance to defend himself against the Sheriff’s wayward wrath.
BANG!!!
Sheriff Baxter’s gun was loud. Probably the loudest sound Paul had ever heard in his life. The smell of blasted gun power quickly filled the room and smoke rose up from the Sheriff’s gun.
Paul didn’t feel like he was shot, he looked down at his chest looking for a grotesque bullet wound. But all he saw were shreds of white cotton floating around the air near his waist. Confused and then fearful, he looked at Shawn who was standing right next to him. The head of Shawn’s plush wrestling buddy was completely blown away by the Sheriff‘s gun, the white cotton poked out of his headless stuffed doll. Still in shock, Paul looked at Shawn a little closer and realized that most of his left ear was now missing. Shawn began to scream out in pain, almost immediately.
“Sheriff Baxter!” Roy screamed out loud and began to leap over the counter.
Paul didn’t remember making the decision, but he switched off the safety of his pistol and shot Sheriff Baxter in the chest three times. He dropped to the floor in a huge lifeless thump. Roy slid over the counter and stood over Sheriff Baxter’s body. Everyone in the hardware store had their jaws dropped.
“Holy shit! What the fuck is going on out here?!” Gus Frankly screamed as he came running out from the back room, holding Roy’s box of ammo.
“Paul just shot and killed the Sheriff!” Stan Hadley said, still amazed.
“The fucking idiot shot my boy.” Paul yelled, and then turned to Shawn. His left ear was bloody and mangled. But it could have been much, much worse. If that bullet was a fraction of an inch closer, Shawn could have been shot in the brain. Five year old Shawn Landry could have been killed.
Roy leaned forward and grabbed the ammo package that Gus was holding. Paul marched Shawn and Eddie around the counter and headed out to the front of the store. Shawn was crying very loudly as Paul applied pressure to his bloody ear.
Roy turned around to speak to everyone before he left.
“You all saw how sick Sheriff Baxter was? That is no doubt the beginning of what is coming. We are heading for the mountains; it’s time we all fend for ourselves.”
And with that, Roy Benton and Paul Landry left Gus’s Hardware store.
Soon, along with the rest of their families, both Roy and Paul would leave Green Falls forever.
Chapter 11: That Sinking Feeling
Robert felt like he had been climbing for an eternity. With every step he took, his legs punctured the deep snow up to his knees. The sharp shooting pains of his right ankle did not help matters much. Neither did the army of the infected that still chased him up the snowy hill. Nearly a dozen of them had shot out of the wide sewer pipe and immediately began to stagger after him. Their movements were outright and absurd as they stumbled up the steep incline layered with heavy snow. Most of them were falling down and running into one another, literally plowing themselves in Robert’s direction. One would have found such a sight comical but not after knowing the events of the day.
Robert was nearly at the top now. On the other side, his mother was hopefully still waiting in the truck. He still clung onto the gas can he had picked up in town, that fucker was feeling pretty damn heavy at this point. He briefly thought of Jan Goodman. How could he have been killed so quickly? They had been doing such a good job at their task at hand. The door to the fire company had just opened and with a few gun shots in less than a second Jan Goodman was a lifeless being. Who could have done such a thing and why? HE WASN’T INFECTED! Robert was forced to push his memory away when his busted ankle buckled yet again. His feet had gone numb a long time ago but the pain inside his ankle was still hot and fresh.
Robert heard the engine to his Bronco as he neared the peak of the hill.
“Still running!” He spoke out loud, surprising himself at the sound of his own voice. The angry mob below him let out a fresh round of moans. They were getting close.
Robert fell forward in the snow as he reached the top of the hill and used the last of his fleeting strength to pull himself up and over the hill top.
Sure enough, there it was. His green, rusted-out Ford Bronco was still running, ticking away, sitting in park. In that brief moment of surprising relief, all that Robert could see was the truck with his mother Rita sitting safely inside, smiling at him and gesturing him to quickly make his way to safe harbor. But after allowing his mind and body to be still and open his eyes to what he was truly seeing, Robert’s positive vision was anything but the truth.
His truck was surrounded
by nearly ten ravenous and diseased people. His mother was hanging halfway out of the broken driver side window. Her face was being eaten off by a small man in a brown UPS uniform. One of her eyeballs dangled down about four inches on an ocular string.
In that moment of shock Robert dropped the gas can and the lid flew off as it bounced off his left leg and hit the snow. He watched as water, not gasoline, poured out from the plastic container.
Water? Fuck. Couldn’t even get that right.
Robert returned his glaze to the truck. Meanwhile all attention was on him now.
“Mom?” he whispered.
A large pain struck his right leg. Robert thought his broken right ankle had finally done him in for good. But as he looked down at his leg he realized another hard truth.
A rather sad looking young lady with dead white eyes had just bitten a sizable amount of flesh from his right calf muscle.
Robert’s world went white as he lost his equilibrium and fainted from pain and exertion. He fell backward and rolled helplessly all the way down to the bottom of the hill.
2
Robert.
Wake up.
Robert.
Hey.
WAKE UP!
Robert awoke in his bedroom.
“Come on Rob, you’re going to be late for school.” A female voice said.
Robert slowly sat up in bed, and then he rubbed his eyes so he could see clearly.
“Mom?” he said.
“I’m not waiting for you, I’ll leave without you. I have a perfect attendance and I intend to keep it that way.” The female voice said.
Robert then noticed it wasn’t his mother speaking to him, but his twin sister Felicia. She was standing, clear as day, directly in front of him.
“What?” Robert said, not believing his eyes.
“I’m serious! I will leave without you.” Felicia said. She was still 18 years old and she looked good. She still had all of her hair; the cancer hadn’t ravaged her body yet.
Would it? Will it? Did that even happen?
Robert took a moment to place his surroundings. He was in his old bedroom, at his parent’s first home on Franklin Avenue in Colton. All of his old sports posters were still on the wall, a Colton Steam-Rollers pennant hung above his desk in the corner. Bright sunlight washed into the room and warmth was everywhere.
“Is it springtime?” Robert asked, still bewildered.
“Are you crazy or something? What kind of question is that?” Felicia asked. She had a way of always sounding positive, even in anger or confusion. You just simply had to like her, she would have been a great politician (except if she had to lie or be committed to a promise she didn’t know she could keep, she would never do that). She always seemed happy and it was easy to root for her.
“Enough messing around. Get ready for school already.” Felicia politely demanded.
Robert looked at his sister and shook his head. Felicia smiled at him, her pretty face shining in the bright sunlight.
“What’s wrong Rob?” she asked him.
Robert didn’t want to say it, but he had to. Nothing about this moment felt correct.
“You’re dead.” he said in a slow and soft voice.
All of the ambient noise in the room was abruptly deleted, not a sound was heard by Robert. This caused Robert to lower his jaw quickly, he felt it crack heavily. There seemed to now be far more gravity in the room then there was before. It was as if an invisible ceiling was pushing down onto Robert.
A ghostly weight pressed heavy against the body, mind, and soul.
Felicia’s enormous smile began to sag. Slowly, the bright light from outside began to turn gray, as if a massive series of clouds just covered the sun all at once. A sharp and brisk cold struck Robert’s body; instantly he could see his breath as he exhaled.
Felicia was now dressed in the clothing that the Landry family buried her in ten years ago. Her face was now a pale light blue with a thin layer of frost covering it. Her light colored hair transformed into a jet-black, unruly mass.
The large window in Robert’s room suddenly shattered, bringing sound back to the room, and scared the crap out of Robert. Glass flew in every direction possible. A blizzard of snow and fast winds came rushing into the room. The heavy snow immediately started to cling to the walls and to the floor. Just like that, Robert felt like he was outside again.
“We have the same fate Rob.” Felicia said.
Robert was spellbound and scared, he said nothing. He had nothing to say.
Felicia’s corpse walked slowly through the snow and winds toward Robert with her hand outreached. Robert was frozen, he tried to move but he couldn’t.
“My body was torn apart by cancer. Now your body will be torn apart by a cancer.” Felicia said as she lurched forward with her mouth now wide open and bit Robert’s right shoulder. His blood sprayed all over her ghostly face. She continued to bite and gnaw away at his shoulder.
Everything we ever do is always relevant. We are always paralleling. Our genetics have us in a constant race to mimic.
While trying to scream but not being able to, Robert noticed a figure had appeared in the far corner of the room. Someone was standing inside his closet. He saw large wide eyes staring directly at him. Through the snow rushing in from his window, he noticed it was an old black lady. An old black lady in a nurse’s uniform.
She was simply smiling at him.
"Take ease of your worries, child. Momma’s here.”
3
Robert streamlined back to consciousness.
He was lying at the bottom of the hill, the same hill he must have just completely rolled down. A fat man who was wearing absolutely no clothing was eating Robert’s right shoulder. The pain was unfathomable.
“Fuck!” Robert managed to scream as he swung his left arm over and clumsily knocked the fat man away from him; more of Robert’s flesh ripped away in the man’s mouth. The sickly fat man made a strange gurgling noise and then vomited all over himself, but he still had the intent look on his face that suggested he wanted to eat more of Robert‘s warm flesh.
Robert turned away and tried to stand up. He couldn’t.
He quickly looked up the snow covered hill, all of the infected people that were chasing him before were bearing down on him. In a few seconds he would be completely surrounded. Somewhere over the top of that hill and on the other side, sat Robert’s dead mother; her corpse sitting still in the running Bronco.
That damn truck is going to survive all of this. Not us.
The fat man sprang at Robert again, but this time Robert spun around and kicked him away with his good leg. Then somehow Robert managed to stagger up to his feet.
He was standing in the deep ditch that surrounded Colton. He thought about trying to make it back into the sewer tunnels again but decided he didn’t want to die in the dark. Blood was flowing steadily from his shoulder and also from his right leg where that lady had bit him before.
Then it hit him by surprise, something new. Some of the pain he was feeling had relieved itself and it hit him.
Robert decided that it wouldn’t be too bad of an idea to die in his apartment. Maybe he could finish the last of that bottle of Jack Daniels before he fell into the dark and yet blissful arms of death. From this end of town, he was only two blocks away from his place. So he turned to face Colton and planted his feet in the ditch. He leaped and swung his body up and over the guardrail, then onto the level ground that was Alley B of Colton.
He was walking more steadily now, somehow the open wounds on his right shoulder and right leg didn’t seem to bother him much. He did hear a horrible crunching sound as he applied all of his weight on his right leg. The bones above his right foot were mashing all together in broken discord. But again, very little pain was felt. As he swiftly moved toward his apartment building he briefly looked back and saw that he was leaving a red-carpet of blood behind him. Most of the diseased people had seemed to give up on chasing him. Only a few, one being the
naked fat man, were stumbling after him.
Robert reached the bottom door to his apartment. He turned the handle and swung open the door as hard as he could; the top door hinge broke off as he limped into the stairwell. He slammed the door again, closing it with a loud bang.
Robert looked up the stairs to his apartment door on the second floor. Carl Riggins was still inside there. The bloody mangled mess of what was left of Carl Riggins anyway. Robert was just hoping that the bottle of Jack was still sitting on his coffee table. He lifted his right leg onto the first step causing another loud crunching noise from his ankle. Blood and red drippy snow fell onto the stairs. Still, no pain at all from his ankle though. Robert made his way up to his apartment door.
The thirst for bourbon along with this newfound sense of calm brought a touch of serenity to Robert’s situation. And as he swung open the door to his apartment it became even more apparent of what Robert really wanted.
He just wanted to die. Plain and simple. Soon he would die and all the sorrows of today and days past would be relieved. Robert was ready to become a ghost.
4
The Jack Daniels tasted great.
Robert sat on his couch, in the dark, finishing the last swig of his bottle. Night had fallen. When had it fallen? Robert couldn’t tell. Time didn’t make sense to him anymore. Sitting there in front of his blank television, he kept thinking about turning the flat-screen on. Even though he knew damn well the power was out, he just kept having that idea. How many times had he sat on that very couch, watching cable? Watching reruns or sports or old movies on the higher channels?
After staring at that blank television screen, the last complex thought that Robert would ever have came to him. The thought was this: I have wasted my entire life. I found myself a job, a meaningless job of repetition and mindless production. A job that really garnered no responsibility at all; a job that completely wasted any talents that I may have or may have developed by me actually expanding myself instead of settling for a mediocre way of life. I made money at this dead-end job to pay the cable bill, so I could throw away countless hours, days, months, years, practically my entire adult life so I could watch TV. Now I have no family, I am completely selfish, and I would have left no legacy behind, because I couldn’t crawl out of the shadow and pain that was the DEATH OF MY SISTER! She must be so disappointed in me.
The Dead Divide Us Page 19