“They don’t want to eat me?” He asked the voice, but already knew the answer.
Yessssssssssss. And?
“They don’t eat other zombies.” He said flatly to himself.
Go on . . .
“I am not sure where you are getting at.”
You are still infected. The brains you feast upon keep bringing you back from the brink.
Patient Zero nodded, for at the very least, for him, he had realized this.
Do you think you are unique in this? Fate brought you to eat what has brought you back from the edge of hell.
“I see.” He still did not realize what train of thought this other voice was trying to lead him.
Others may be able to come some of the way back. Only far enough though where you can lead them. You could choose your own court to keep.
Patient Zero simply shook his head no. He looked up to the sky, speaking to the voice as if he might have once spoken to God. “No. I am better off alone. I have no need for some . . . court.” He spat the last out in defiance. The disembodied voice simply chuckled.
I will keep this in the back of your mind for now, future king. You will want to embrace this idea soon enough. Trust in this.
“Well until then, you can crawl back into what hole you oozed out from, and shut the fuck up!”
The voice fell silent, obeying the final command. The man looked around and even up the sky, waiting for another defiant retort.
“That is what I thought,” he said to himself. He began walking again, eyeing the tall buildings at the horizon.
“Nobody tells me what to fucking do,” he told himself.
(May 5, 2015)
This new town looked much like the base she had just left. Abandoned. Side streets were emptied of cars and pedestrians. Blood stains marred across the painted white lines along the main street. She noted that there were not many remains left at all, as she continued down the road. Only swatches of blood in random swirls remained. She breathed a sign of thanks for that. The bones she did see had been cracked and splintered open, their marrow licked clean. Charlie refused to close her eyes to this town dyed red. Not seeing actual body parts helped to restrain the fact that this mess was once human and whole.
No, not for one instant, she grimaced. I will not give them one second to sneak up on me. She looked at the shops on both sides of the road. Leaves, dirt, and twigs were stuck to most of the windows from the last storm. Images of her old bedroom raced into her thoughts and flashed across her eyes in a searing rush. She was there again; trapped in her own personal hell, she shook her head in sad knowing. No one was ever going to come out and clean these windows ever again. The sparks of that buried memory were clawing its way to the surface again.
The barricades forbade any sunlight into her protective cell, but they could not keep out the sounds. Ominous sounds pervaded and stretched out in the darkness. The lack of light played with her sense of space. The dreadful moans pushed through, muffled through the plywood, deepening their timbre and multiplying her terror. She also heard the storms and they were packed with thunder-boomers. The spaces between the cracks of thunder were filled by the pouring moans, rising in a calling chorus. At times, it felt as if they were right there in the room with her. Each thunderclap felt like rake across her heart, and sent her in hysterical fits of sobbing and sharp breaths. To think, that she used to love a good storm.
Charlie shook herself back to planet Earth. It took her a few moments to realize that she had faded out, staring at a downed power line that been taken out by a lone, old Cypress. No. No one would be coming to clean the windows. FEMA was not coming to rescue her. She was all alone and that was not going to change.
Charlie decided that she preferred to walk. It gave her the opportunity to observe things more clearly, instead of allowing them to blur past. Besides, she did not want to chance missing taking care of any straggling walkers. It was almost like a video game to her. Anything left over would just be one more zombie that could eventually cross her path again, and she was still too angry and impetuous to allow that to happen.
She took her time, checking inside of abandoned vehicles, kicking over piles of trash and leaves or whatever looked suspicious. The road was littered with all sorts of debris. It amazed her how much the systems humanity had in place kept the overall chaos of the living in check. After the pandemic, there were no garbage trucks running around at four in the morning. She stopped and took note of a fallen power line that a tall tree had taken out after the rough storm they had some weeks before. No professional would be coming to cut that tree up. There would be no trucks coming to haul the tree away. There would be no electric company people in their cherry picker buckets to reunite the cables and save the day. There would be no one coming to make this right, she thought. Gone were the racing ambulances weaving past cars. Gone were the tow trucks loading up wrecks and hauling them to the automobile graveyards. Gone was the state trooper who used to reliably hide in the cut where he thought no one would see him, but everyone laughingly knew he was there.
Grass had already started peeking its way through the cracks in the unattended asphalt and upwards around the slew of cars that remained left behind in the shoulders. Charlie had her pick of any vehicle she wanted, but it didn’t feel right to get behind the wheel. She wasn’t ready to claim her apocalyptic inheritance just yet. Besides, she felt safer on foot. It is easier to reach for your weapons when you aren’t sitting on them.
She was close to the next town now. She got up from the ground. Checking underneath all of the cars in the line was tedious work, but worth it since she wanted to survive. She wiped her jeans off, trying to rub away the tiny pebbles embedded in her knees. She jumped back spastically as an enormous flock of black birds took to the air from the adjacent power line. Her hand over her heart, she had let out a stifled scream, which ended up sounding more like a squeak. She took in a sharp breath and blew it back out in contempt.
“Stupid birds!” she mouthed the words and shook her head at them. She watched as the black mass of them shrank in the distance.
“Yeah! Leave before I make you dinner.”
She began to turn away, but slowing turned one eye back to the gradually dwindling bunch. There was something peculiar, maddening even, about their formation that caught her attention. They were not all in one position, spread out in the sky in any organized fashion. They were all chasing and converging on one point, none of them watching out for any of the other. Quite a few them seemed to be crashing into the others and dropping down from the fray, only to swoop up and fly straight toward the center again. It was like watching a beehive that was hung in the sky. They were chasing something, and that something was bringing them closer and closer to Charlie. The group of birds was close enough to see now. They spread out into a wider, swooping in tight circles, like electrons around a solid nucleus.
Something was in its center, shrieking frantically.
Charlie slipped off her backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out her Army issued binoculars. She brought the center of the ruckus to bear and massaged the dial to tighten her focus. Inside, surrounded by hundreds of small black birds was a bird of prey. It was either a hawk or a vulture; Charlie couldn’t tell which. Whatever it was, it was fighting mercilessly against the blackbirds, safeguarding a decent sized piece of carrion in its vise-like beak. The blackbirds were much smaller, but obviously outnumbered the larger bird. Shortly, it dropped the torn meat, and just as quickly, a half dozen of the smaller birds scooped it up and rendered it to pieces. Charlie caught a glimpse of one of the blackbirds’ eyes. It was opaque and split with viscous, black rivers of fluid running out of them.
Oh shit! Not the birds too.
In the next instant, the ravenous zombie birds dove to the center. The hawk screeches were all but drowned out by the vigorous flapping of so many wings. She returned her sights to the hawk. Her hands had started shaking in fear, so it took both of them to steady her binoculars. She shakily kept
the hawk, in her sights, but it didn’t remain there long. She watched in horror, open-mouthed as feathers exploded out of the center as the hawk was decimated in just seconds. One of the blackbirds had imbedded its tiny claws into the hawk’s eyes and came up the victor with the hawks head, as the last of the hawk’s lower half was ripped away at the neck. The crazed aviates attacked the head like a sewing machine, one with a hundred needles going in and out until only the skull and beak remained. The bird that gripped it shrilled one last chirp of conquering and flung the skull. It landed and shattered on the roof of a nearby Toyota truck.
Charlie stared at the truck with a start and then trained her binocular back on the bird. Her binoculars went black. What in the hell . . .
She looked up. The black mass had grown in size and seemed to take up a quarter of the sky.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered.
She spun on one foot and took off toward the autos in front of her.
“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! FUCK!”
She passed a convertible with a ragtop, violently shaking her head at it. She ran passed a motorcycle. She passed up a thin-fendered Nissan truck. Then she stopped just short of a 1983 seaweed green colored Cutlass Supreme.
Fuckin’ perfect, she thought.
She grabbed the handle and gave it a pull. The thick heavy door opened unwillingly. She used her whole weight to bring it open only halfway. She searched the dash for the trunk lever and pulled it with both hands. The trunk door opened halfway with a ‘thump”. She ran to the back of the green hulking monster and peered into the space. The trunk was empty save for one large open gas container.
The shrill of the birdcalls and the sound of rushing air forced her to turn around. The gang of birds was only seconds away from their next feast. She backed herself into the trunk, throwing one leg over at a time, still managing to fall into it bottom first in the process. She hastily reached up grabbed the underside of the door and pulled in down until there was only a small line of light cutting through. She braced for the impact, but she did not have to wait for long.
The impact of three hundred birds slamming into to the trunk echoed into the space, making Charlie’s ears pop and ring painfully. It sounded like a one minute Tommy Lee drum solo, and Charlie was trapped inside the bass drum. Unable to hold the barrage at bay, the overwhelming force of the impacts snapped the trunk door shut, and drowned Charlie in darkness.
The trunk would have been completely silent were it not for the ringing in her ears. Thrust into utter darkness so quick, she was seeing stars. Her eyes played havoc on her mind, seeing a kaleidoscope of light lines, exploding in all directions, until her eyes adjusted to the lack of illumination. She balled up her fist and punched the trunk door with it in a panic. She screamed and started coughing on the building gasoline fumes.
How could it end like this?
She was cornered in a trunk, bound to suffocate in a trap of her own making. She kicked the front end of the door, but managed only to push her head into the wall of the back seat. It did not budge. She covered her mouth and pushed on the seat with her hands. There was no give.
She coughed again and puked up bile, retching, trying to get the gasoline fumes out of her lungs. She reached over and pushed on the opposite seat. She fell through and it fell forward. Scrambling to right herself, she pulled her body through the opening and untangled her frame into the seat. She popped open the door slowly and peeked outside. All of the birds sustained damage when they struck. Some exploded. Many, cushioned by the others that scored the trunk first, landed around the car. Skittering in circles with broken feet, wings and beaks, all dead, but moving just the same.
Charlie pushed the heavy door all the way open and stepped out. She doubled-over and coughed up the remaining fumes in her lungs, spitting the last of it away. She wiped her mouth and stood up, eyeing the carnage. Some of the birds were still whole, and had started overcoming their disorientation. No, I’m not finished with you guys yet, she thought. She closed the door, and opened the driver side once again, pushed in the cigarette lighter, and then popped open the trunk. She grabbed the gas canister and poured its contents in a wide circle overtop the scattered moving bird parts. The canister was two and a half gallons, and plenty enough to cover the area. Not taking any chances, Charlie took out her survival knife and split a hole into the gas tank. She pulled her knife out slowly, not wanting to make a spark. The cigarette light popped out with a click. She pushed it in and held it there; she wanted it red fire-poker hot. She pulled the lighter out and held the knob tightly in her fist. She looked down at the black birds one last time, most of them slipping and choking in the pooling accelerant. She noticed that the tank had emptied itself and was barely dripping.
It is now time to finish this. You will follow me no further.
She stepped a good distance back then flicked the car lighter into the outer edges of the gasoline circle. It sparked quickly and raced to cover the birds in a blanket of flame, their trilling chirps instantly silenced. The flames shot up the fumes the gas tank and in moments the seaweed green Cutlass was ablaze as well. She jogged up the road a good stint to put some space between her and the car should it decide to explode. It almost depressed her when it didn’t.
“I guess that only happens in the movies,” she said.
She spotted a lone red bird that had flown down and was pecking the ground for food. Charlie decided to give it notice.
“You see that! That’s what happens with you mess with me. You get burned.”
The bird did not seem to notice and hopped along, continuing its search for anything edible. Charlie pulled her hair back and pinned it up.
“Man, I hate angry birds.” She stopped and chuckled at her own joke. Then it got her brain smoking. She was beginning to think that maybe driving in a car wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She started to work it out. If the birds were susceptible to the virus, what about other animals? For all she knew, there could be wild zombie twelve-point bucks running through the woods. There could even be ravenous wild boars, which were already dangerous to begin with. Or even a group of voracious zombie squirrels. They would be mindlessly trading in their stores of winter nuts for warm blood and human flesh. What would she do if they just jumped out of the forest to come eat her? There would be no way to outrun them on foot. She couldn’t possibly shoot them all. Could she?
Her mind reeled at the possibilities. She looked down the line of cars before her. There was literally dozens of them, perhaps hundreds between her and the town. She only needed to choose one. She walked and looked at each car she passed with a cursory glance. She nodded her head sadly at the van with a trailer hitch hauling a large fishing boat on the back. Did they really think they could just take it all with them? She soldiered past it shaking her head in disapproval.
Fifteen minutes later she stopped in awe, absentmindedly letting her backpack slip from her shoulders to the ground. She found herself gawking at a 1970 Thunderbird. She walked around it slowly, running her hands along the fender. It had been freshly waxed; feeling like silk underneath her fingertips. She eyed the pine straw that had collected across where the windshield wiper laid; the buildup of mud that had dotted up along the bottom edges of the car when it had rained. Charlie shook her head. This is no way to treat a lady, she spurned. She stepped back and admired the color. It was painted back to its original ‘Burgundy Fire’, and it had the looks of an almost complete restoration. She tested the door and it opened with ease, no noise. She smiled at her luck as she realized that the keys were still in the ignition.
Now if only she would start, she prayed. She twisted the key in the ignition. It coughed and sputtered, but it remained lifeless. She threw her head back against the headrest and blew all of her air out in a curse. She dropped her head to her chest and drew her eyes to the fuel indicator. Empty. It would figure, she mentally kicked herself. She stopped and remembered the quote her father always used on her.
Good things come to th
ose who wait.
She pushed herself out of the car. No, good things come to those get off their ass and go get it she amended. She walked back to the boat and climbed aboard. It didn’t take her long to find two full gas containers. It was plenty of gasoline to get her up the road. Perhaps one of the gas stations would still be working. The gas jugs were heavy, so it took two trips. She eyed the sun in the sky above her and noted it was getting on in the afternoon. She doubled her pace as best as she could, limping while balancing the heavy jug on her thigh, slinging it forward with each step. She wanted to find some place safe in the next town to crash. That usually meant making that place safe, clearing it out all of infestations, locking and boarding it up. Moreover, if there was no power, she needed it done before the night broke over her.
She filled the tank excitedly and cast both containers in the trunk. She entered the car and slapped her hands together in a quick prayer, and turned the key. The engine choked and roared to life.
“That’s my Lady!” she praised aloud. It was a V8 engine and it didn’t ping or pop as it dropped to its idle speed. It was obviously a restored engine. She patted the top of the dash lovingly. She rubbed the dust around on her fingers. She was definitely going to have to clean this old girl up.
She grabbed the shifter on the dash and put it smoothly into drive. Most of the road was clear except for a military Humvee truck. It appeared to have been abandoned as it was parked across both lanes of the road and it doors were left swung wide open. She semi-circled it slowly, taking care to look for walkers lurking behind the massive vehicle. The bastards always seem to come out of the woodwork if there was the faintest hint of a fresh meal twitching under their noses or any sound that would mimic the alluring drum of one’s heart. There were none and the road ahead of her appeared clear all the way down. She drove and passed several signs for exits leading toward Wichita.
Zombies Don't Ride Motorcycles Page 7