In quick succession, he flipped the handle on the door and kicked the door into the monster’s ribs and jerked the door back closed. In the next moment, did it again and then a third time. The gap widened between the rotting flesh and steel, and with each pummel, knocking the pitiable creature off kilter. A final “stutter” and the thing flew backwards on to the ground, dazed. Callen swept out of the truck and straddled it as it lay writhing on the ground. He pulled out a long slender dagger and balanced it in the center of its forehead. Putting his palm on the bottom of the handle, he leaned in slowly with all his weight and felt the blade slip leisurely, smoothly through the corpse’s rotting skull and just as it reached up for him, through its brain. Its arms dropped to the sides with in a short spastic seizure. Impossibly, the creature let out all of its air with a final exhale. It gurgled, a last defiant sound, and whatever little light that remained in its eyes winked out forever.
Wiping off his knife on the zombies own clothes, he sheathed it and returned to the truck. He leaned in sarcastically towards his brother, eyeballing him mockingly as he quietly shut the door with a gentle snap.
Tren nodded appreciatively. “I take it back brother. No doubt about your skills man.”
Callen looked back out the window down at the corpse. Once it had been someone’s brother. Maybe it was someone’s father. There was no way to tell. It had deteriorated so badly, anything that was once human and turned bad and putrid.
Putting his ear buds in and screwed his eyes shut. Folding his arms, he slid down in his seat as the truck gave a quick bark and pulled away.
He sighed. When will we ever find some semblance of peace again in this world?
His eyes closed, but the visage of the walker still bearing its forehead puncture wound remained standing there, just behind his eyelids. Still screaming and baring its permanent smile.
(May 16, 2015)
She pulled into the second automobile sales lot. It figures, she thought, as she eyed the family name done up in cursive across the tall entrance sign. Wait a minute. She pumped the breaks on both her car and her mind. Sweeting’s Chevrolet, the sign said. Wasn’t the other place she passed a Sweeting’s Ford Dealership? Talk about having a finger in every pot.
She stepped out onto the massive lot. There were still plenty of vehicles left in little patches all around. Broken glass marked the spots where many of them had been broken into and stolen. I am guessing that they didn’t get very far, Charlie mused. She also suspected that if she traveled a little ways up the road, she would start finding tag-less cars still stamped with the “Sweeting’s” logo prominently displayed on their rear-ends.
She marveled at all of the last year’s models. Turning to the thunderbird, she patted its hood lovingly. “Don’t worry, Lady. I’m not planning to replace you anytime soon. Just trying to find some go-go juice for you,” she whispered. She looked across the multi-colored array of cars and contemplated her best bet. Her gambling eyes came up with zilch until she eyeballed a dark blue Chevy, a dealer tag slapped on the back.
Guess we’ll start there.
As she approached, it became apparent that the driver’s door had been left open. She dropped her pace and pulled out her Desert Eagle. She trained the muzzle what would have been head high and leaned inside. Empty.
She released her breath and packed her weapon back in its cradle. Keys remained in the ignition. She wrenched it forward one click and watched as the dash lit up, the needles bouncing to life.
Yes! Full tank.
She began walking back toward her car, but stopped suddenly. A deep, resonating sound, not unlike a drum shook her ears. She waited. Nothing. She started walking again, thinking she just imagined it. The sound revealed itself once more, this time a bit louder, closer. Repeatedly, the noise echoed toward her. It was rhythmic in its nature. The clamor paced out like a single jungle drum, in a stretched out march reverberating across the lot.
Charlie dropped down her belly. She stretched up her neck to train her eyes on the spaces under and between the forests of shiny new black tires. Her eyes widened in awestruck fear.
Something was walking between the rows, stopping at each car. It paused for a moment and shifted its feet, its’ huge hulking feet. The ankles that the feet were connected to were just about the width of Charlie’s head. By the lurch in its gait, and the resonated sound, she could see that it was knocking at each car, heavily rocking it on its tires. From where she laid, she couldn’t tell if he was beating on the doors or smacking the roof. Either way, it sounded like a sledgehammer. One thing that she was sure of, this thing was massive.
Charlie had seen pro weightlifters perform in matches before, some that stood chiseled with insanely ripped bodies with disproportionately tiny heads. She needed to get the fuck away and fast. She did not want to have a showdown with the behemoth zombie looking in all the cars for a snack. Nope. ‘Lady’ will just have to wait a little while longer for extra gas. Goliath jerked his massive head to the right as if straining to hear something in the distance.
There’s that humming sound again. What the fuck is that? Please God, let it be a generator. I could use some hot food and real shower. The sound remained constant, never increasing in its pitch. It sounded harmless enough to check out and it had Goliath here distracted momentarily for her to get back to the car and get the hell out of dodge. Charlie waited but a breath jumped up to her feet and had her gun drawn just in case. The zombie failed to notice her presence. Then on the air, Charlie smelled it. That coppery scent you get when you get a good scrape on your body. Just like the scrapes on her gravel scratched palms.
Shit.
She balled her hands up into tight fists, wincing as the burning pain came into them. She had not felt this kind of pain since she was a child, tearing up her knees after a skateboard accident. She had nearly torn her own kneecap straight off. Her mother had the dirty duty of disinfecting the whole thing, cleaning all the dirt out with peroxide, and slapping it back on. Bandaged and bruised, the doctors had been surprised at her mother expertise in the patch job. She barely had a small line of a scar that went around it in the shape of the letter ‘C’.
The gargantuan stopped his rhythm, instantly look much taller just standing there with his head cocked to the side, listening. No. Sniffing.
Fuck.
He sauntered around, spinning on one foot and landing himself machine-like back down. How he managed to do that without falling like the other smaller, skinnier zombies was anybody’s guess. Charlie figured it had to be because it was not top heavy. He was a giant walking paperweight. Now, that paperweight was walking toward her.
“Shit!” she cried, instantly giving away her position. She stood up and gave a panic scan around her. A lone 4 X 4 truck was only yards away. It was her best bet. Even if it was locked, she could at least put something between her and it.
It moaned and beyond all reason began throwing its arms behind it. Instantly is had hurled itself into a sprint. Charlie wasted no time launching herself off of the fender of the car into a sprint of her own. She threw herself upward at the handle of the truck on the driver’s side. She lifted it up hard and it snapped back down on her, pinching her already torn hands. She screamed as her hands slipped and she fell back down to the parking lot right on her ass. Then the real panic set upon her. She fought through the burning sensation in her hands and pushed herself back off the ground. The zombie was already upon her before she could even take a step.
She dropped back down as the monster swung both of its arms around. She was not quick enough. Her hair trailed upward as she fell, just enough for the massive hand to seize on to. She was caught.
Charlie screamed as the monster slowly pulled his arm up, like a straight crane pulling up a wrecking ball. She grabbed at his arm trying to relieve the pressure that was building up on the top of her head. Her terror escalated into full-blown hysteria as the pressure came off the balls of her feet. This monster kept her at his arm’s length, bringing her
eye-to-eye with him. If she did not know any better, she could have sworn he had broken out into a smile. His motor skills in his arms were deliberate and slow. That was just fine by her.
She had one wrist thrown over his arm to hold her up, while she reached down for her K-Bar. In was only seconds, but she wanted to take care not to drop it when she unsheathed it. That would be her doom song. She came up with it hard, stabbing the thing hard at the wrist. It barely penetrated.
“What the fuck are you made of, you asshole?”
She dislodged it, and the monster managed a snort. It knew it was victorious. It bent his arm at the elbow, craning the squirming Charlie slowly toward his opening mouth. She pulled the knife out and made to stab at his arm repeatedly, sending chunks of flesh and coagulated blood all over her hands and face. The arm would not slow. She halted her attack on the arm, as it availed to nothing. Instead, she plunged the K-bar deep into the creature’s thick wall of a neck. Its moans halted with a gurgle. His arm halted its approach, but its chin dropped hard against the blade, stopping her from shoving it upward into its brain. Annoyed by this little mosquito of a meal, it shook Charlie hard, swinging her back and forth like tangled yo-yo. She cried out a bloodcurdling scream that no one would ever hear. On the backswing, she grabbed the knife with both hands and ripped it out of the side of the monster’s throat. Still, the beast held on tight.
She flipped the blade around in her hand, and brought up to bear against the fist-full of hair in its hands. She sawed at it harshly, wincing in excruciating pain with each pass. The knife sawed through it quickly and true, and the last of her captured hair ripped under her own weight, gravity finishing the job. She fell and tumbled quickly away from the monster.
“Fucking bastard,” she mouthed, walking backwards on all fours. She spun herself around again, still reeling from the pain in her scalp and her neck. Charlie ran around to the other side of the truck, hoping with better luck on the passenger side door. Hoping against hope, she grabbed at the handle . . . . And it popped open!
She threw herself inside the car and slapped down the lock, only a moment before the truck rocked from its collision. She screamed again, despite the fact that she had expected it. Knowing it was coming did nothing to diminish her dread. She shimmied over the stick shift and did a quick study. A yellow plain lanyard dangled from keys shoved into the ignition.
Well, if the knife didn’t work …
She massaged her scalp. It felt very sore to the touch, and her hand came back even bloodier than before.
No. Not my blood. It’s from the knife, where I cut him!
She palmed the keys and turned the truck over hard. The sound of the Hemi roared to life and dropped back down into it drum beat idle. She looked quickly at her gauges. Less than a quarter tank of gas. She had better do this quick. She slapped the clutch and palmed the stick, and in seconds, she had the truck in motion, moving quickly backwards down the aisle. The monster pitched forward trying to beat the air where the truck once stood.
Charlie slammed the stick into first gear, and revved the engine up to a high sustained whine. She lined the wheels up, eyeing her target. She released the truck, and in so doing, released her own beast. Her own four-wheeled bullet shot forward toward the monstrosity, barreling down with unrelenting power. Charlie mouthed off her final salute to the brute.
Fuck you.
The truck’s contact was a 30 mile an hour uppercut, slamming the beast backward. Charlie gasped, racked hard in the cabin, thrown back against her seat. The impact was too much for her hands and wrists, and she involuntarily released the wheel. The truck spun against the monster, dragging it down underneath. It scraped hard against the asphalt, the zombies body slowing the truck down to a stop. The trunk quieted down slowly back down to its lulling idle.
Charlie lifted her head to the windshield, but could see nothing. She knew she hit him. She had got him. Serves that bastard right. Motherfucker. Instantly she regretted even saying it in her head. A real woman does not talk like that. She felt ashamed. Honoring her mother that way was just not proper, even here. This person did not ask to be turned. It was not his fault.
She slipped down out of the truck. Her eyes did not even want to look at the front end, but not so much for the blood and carnage. She just totaled a 4 X 4 truck. She had turned it into a battering ram. A $40,000 battering ram. It was such a waste of a truck. She started to walk away, when a loud clank halted her right in her tracks. She looked up towards the front end. A shredded hand had slapped upon the hood. She heard it scraping itself off the ground before she saw the rest of him. Its face reared up slow and mechanical, pushed in a bit from the impact. It still managed a sneer. If Charlie did not know any better, she could have sworn it was contorting into a smile.
It was mobile. The impact seemed to have had done little to affect it original speed. The monster grabbed the mirror and used it to swing itself forward around the truck, launching itself into a run. Charlie bolted. Her breath caught itself harsh in her chest and that sick feeling crept into her gut. She slipped off the fender and had to catch herself and push off the asphalt one-handed. She now felt it more hyper-realistic than anything else in her memory. Her heart felt already crushed in the beast hands, despite the fact the he had yet to lay a finger on her. She knew she only had moments left to mumble her final words.
A quick prayer.
This was it. The oncoming train.
Charlie was going to die.
Her exertions doubled anyway and she managed to run line herself even with on the opposite side of the truck. Panting, her eyes watched his, looking for tells. He opened his mouth and bellowed in red murderous anger. He slammed both of his fists against the side doors, like an infant throwing a tantrum. He sniffed the air, still smelling Charlie’s coppery sweetness hanging in it. Something seemed to add together correctly in what remained of its brain and it started to move around towards the back of the truck. Towards Charlie. Towards food.
The ‘flee’ in Flight versus Fight won out and Charlie darted away to the opposite side, keeping the truck between them. The zombie stopped its circling, and shouted out a short expletive in Zombie. It stood there, confused and conflicted as those whose lines were all crossed at the tower of Babel. Charlie inched from one side to the other and back again, watching for the beast’s reaction. It simply stood there, easing back into a Mexican standoff. It seemed it decided to wait her out. Charlie knew she would not be the one to win the waiting game. She needed to end this now, if she could.
She needed to get back in to truck, but the zombie was still pacing, running defense on the driver’s side. Charlie grabbed her gun and bashed the butt of it over and over again into the fender, echoing through the parking lot.
“Come on! Dinner time!” she screamed.
The beast let out a gurgled yell and chased her around the truck again. She stayed just far ahead of it and slipped back into the front seat just as he reached door. It slapped at the windows just and she pulled the door closed. The truck choked back to life again, and she slammed it back into reverse; the tires barked in rebellion. The zombie slid off along the fender and lost its balance, tripping over his own massive feet.
“Okay. Let’s try this again.” She revved the truck up just as the monster was pulling his torso back up into her field of view. Ramming speed, Captain. She suppressed a giggle as her hopes for surviving this started to bubble up inside her once more. She released the brake and barreled hard against the fiend. She hit it much faster this time, praying under her breath that this would be the final knockdown blow. It was flipped hard against his back, its head ricocheting hard against the blacktop. She stopped her advance as soon as he fell, effectively parking the truck right on top of him. She hoped it was enough to immobilize it enough for her to finish the job.
The zombie stared but only got a view from Charlie’s ankles down. It was unable to crane its next any further. Its neck split, broken clean from its spine. The ability to control its jaws sti
ll made itself apparent. It kept gnawed weakly at the open air.
She slowly slid out her samurai sword. She trained the business end inches from fallen beast’s neck, and gave a small curtsey. “You were a tough bastard, I’ll give you that,”” she whispered. “I salute you.” She shot a half-hearted salute from her forehead out and quickly turned it into giving it the middle finger. She gripped her sword and swung it true. The head came clean from its broad shoulders, bouncing hard off the concrete. It did not roll far. It stopped on its jaw, still chomping. Its efforts managed to only remove its own spastic tongue from its mouth. She shook off her dismay. No matter how many times, no matter how many ways, if she wanted them to stop. If she wanted them dead forever, they would always force her hand. She had to attack the brain. She positioned the tip of her sword right over its temple. It rocked against it as the jaw came to life again. It would bite until its bitter end.
She closed her eyes and palmed both of her hands on the pommel and pushed down until she could center her body weight on it to finish the job. She winced as the blade rushed the rest of the way through, finally silencing the fiend.
Zombie shish kabob.
She dropped her rear on the curb, raising her hand to her eyes. Damming them up was useless. She cried anyway. She had cried for all of them. Sometimes she had built it up, after a few battles, but ultimately she had to release. She had to mourn. These were once people, and nothing she told herself could convince her otherwise. The irony of it all, in a world full of walkers, she had never felt more alone.
Zombies Don't Ride Motorcycles Page 9