Season of the Dead

by Adams, Lucia

  A half-mile down the road, I tossed the bloody bag out the window. I knew a zombie would find it eventually and suck the blood out of the cloth and gauze.

  CHAPTER 20

  Dublin, Ireland

  Paul

  The explosion had blown out all the windows on the third floor of my apartment block. An orange halo lit up the darkening sky over Dublin. Flames still billowed from the doomed building, visible from Ciara’s flat, on a dreary, wet evening. I headed deeper into the City Centre, walking alongside the river Liffey. The green water snaked a course into Dublin Bay and out to the Irish Sea. I wondered, could I just get on a boat and head out with it? Go where though? Traffic blocked the quays—more cars, buses, and trucks abandoned. Where had all the owners gone? Surely not everyone was either dead or infected.

  The adrenaline no longer pumped through me. My rage and desire for revenge had eased, and it was vengeance that drove me. I no longer saw the infected as ill people. They were zombies, they were the enemy, they wanted to fucking eat me. I wished I hadn’t thrown away the JD.

  One of them stepped off a bus ahead of me. It would have been comical if it had not been so serious, seeing this half rotted head peering out from a green bus, “Bren’s Tours” emblazoned across the back. The tourists get uglier every year.

  I didn’t know how much longer I could do this shit for. Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? Constantly on the run, fighting running battles every day, just to stay alive? Somebody once told me if they were going to die, they hoped it would be by drowning. They imagined once the initial struggle for air was over, it would be a pretty pleasant way to go, just sort of floating there, at peace. I don’t know about that, but I will admit, leaping the wall and plunging into the river below did occur to me.

  I decided not to die that day; maybe the next, but not that day. The zombie spotted me, or smelled me—whatever it is they do to find their food. I noticed it was moving slower than normal. I wondered, was it the rain or because it was getting dark? A second one followed it, filing off the bus. Oh good Jesus, it was the closest I’d come to laughing in weeks. The fucking thing was dressed up as a leprechaun; it even had the green top hat.

  Maybe it was the costume, maybe I’d just had my fill of killing for one day, and the battle lust had abated. I suppose it was a kind of battle lust that had overcome me when I rampaged through the building. Once that red mist descended, it had to be fed. Christ, I probably would have lashed out at any of the other survivors had they got in my way. Maybe they had, I couldn’t remember. I turned away from the two zombies and ran the other way. Looking over my shoulder, I could see them following, but not as fast as I’d seen them run down that woman outside my window, or as fast as they had attacked us back in the pharmacy.

  I passed by an off-licence, I reckoned I’d have time before Darby O’Gill and his sidekick would catch up. If I was going to die, I was going to do it happy. I entered the ransacked shop. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who fancied partying. I wasn’t greedy; I only wanted one bottle. As I approached the counter, I noticed the cash register had been opened. Yeah, money will be real useful to whatever sap decided to empty it.

  I don’t know why I didn’t spot it. Maybe I was becoming immune to the smell, maybe I was too focused on grabbing some booze. When he jumped up from behind the counter, I froze. Not so much at being taken by surprise by yet another zombie, it was recognising this one. I had to admit I’d seen him looking better. The flap of skin still hung down from his cheek, his clothes were splattered in his own blood and God only knew who else’s. Robbie growled at me, his eyes full of hunger. I staggered back. Jesus! He was a big bastard; thank God they were all moving slower. Broken glass crunched under my feet. I didn’t want to kill him. It was only a couple of hours since the ill-fated expedition, since we were bosom buddies. I told myself I would be doing him a kindness. It seemed harsh to do it with his own axe though.

  As I backed away, I felt something grab my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Shite on a fucking stick!” I jumped back from the leprechaun.

  A leprechaun and a fireman. Seriously! The two of them came at me together. I grabbed a bottle of wine from a shelf and smashed it across Robbie’s face. Did these things even feel pain, I wondered. It stopped him momentarily; he had a sort of dumb, shocked look on his deformed face. I used the time to spin around to the side of the leprechaun and hack at his neck… once, twice, third time wins the pot of gold.

  “Jaysus, Robbie! This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” I drove the axe into his skull. I like to think he would have thanked me.

  I knew there was at least one more around somewhere. I really did not have time to delay or get sentimental, but I’d just killed somebody I knew. I’ll not say he was a friend; I didn’t even like him that much. I’m not the religious sort, so saying a prayer seemed a bit pointless. I did pause for reflection though. The whole ordeal was making me feel weary, bone tired. I looked at my feet then and saw the green leprechaun hat. What a fucked up world.

  I had a drink for Robbie; it seemed the right thing to do. It was ironic really, the building we both lived in was now a towering inferno. I could even see the smoke from where I was, and I was wandering about the city killing firemen.

  I wondered if it was time to leave the town. That is, if I could even be bothered trying to keep myself alive. It struck me, surely out in the country there would be less of the infected, more space, and cleaner air. But then again, in the city there was much more access to essentials, like food and shit. Maybe I should just sit in a corner somewhere and let the world pass me by.

  I headed outside; it was darker now. The city was a weird fucking place with no lights. I’d lived there all my life, knew every inch of it, but in the dark of night, with not a sound but my footsteps and my own breathing, knowing that around the next bend there might be a flesh eating zombie scared the living shite out of me.

  I had nowhere to go. Where was safe? Every building, every vehicle could be harbouring a monster. I really did not fancy wandering around aimlessly in the dark. It was still raining, and the clouds would block out the light of the moon and stars. It was already getting hard to see. Nor did I fancy spending the night in the company of Robbie and king of the fucking little people.

  In the end, the decision was made for me. As I dithered in the doorway, I was grabbed from behind and dragged back into the off-licence by strong arms. A black gloved hand covered my mouth, stifling my yell.

  I finally realised I did not want to die.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sun Prairie, Montana, USA

  Sharon

  Mr. Kowalski had kept the Mustang in its original condition. It had a 289 V8 that wasn’t fuel injected. So, it wouldn’t beat much off the light, but it could run full out for long distances without blinking an eye.

  The interstates were packed. A few drivers figured out the southbound lanes were gridlocked and took to driving south in the north lanes, which had generated some serious pile-ups. I decided it would be best to take as many of the smaller highways and local roads as I could.

  “Aunt Sharon, what are these?” Parker asked, handing me a block of plastic. I laughed when I saw it.

  “It’s an old 8-track.” As I said, the car was in original condition, including the 8-track player and AM-only radio. We had turned that off, as all it was broadcasting were civil service warnings.

  A few weeks ago, the Internet started to go down. Sites began to crash or were really slow to load. As the pandemic spread, videos of zombies began to be posted on YouTube and on Facebook. It was no surprise that those sites were the first to go.

  When garage doors began to open and close on their own, I realized that the government was jamming the signal. What they were broadcasting at such a low frequency that it messed with garage door openers, I didn’t know. But I did know that it meant things were going really bad if they were taking such measures.

  “What�
�s an 8-track?”

  “It’s like a cassette; it plays music,” I answered, slowing down to maneuver around a couple of abandoned vehicles.

  “What’s a cassette?” he asked.

  I snorted; Jack laughed. “It has a tape in it, like VHS that you watch movies on in a VCR.” When Parker still looked confused, I laughed outright.

  “A VCR came before DVDs.” As I drove past the cluster of vehicles, I could see a leg sticking out from under a mini-van. I didn’t know if it was attached to anything… nor did I want to know.

  “Do you mean like a Blu-Ray player?” Parker asked.

  I looked at the 8-track in my hand, reading the label for the first time, “The Carpenters”, and groaned. I showed it to Jack who, without blinking an eye, rolled down the window and tossed it out. The plastic shattered into a million colored specks, releasing a black ribbon that soon became entangled in the guard rail.

  The others included the Statler Brothers and Glenn Campbell singing about being a lineman. I was growing tired of not having anything to listen to on the radio, but not tired enough to suffer through any of that, and so we littered a little more.

  As we headed north along the river, we began to notice that the water levels were rising. The flood plains were filling up, almost reaching the small highway we were driving on. Eventually, the road ahead was completely flooded, and we had to stop.

  “The plane this morning damaged the bridges. I bet they also blew Gavin’s Point dam,” I said as we surveyed the rising waters. The files I had been given said a zombie couldn’t swim. How they knew that I shuddered to think, but it certainly fit. The virus could manage basic locomotion. Swimming would require far too much coordination.

  “What do we do?” Jack asked.

  It was around noon. we had been heading north on Highway 81, and were just outside Yankton, South Dakota. I had hoped to cross the state line, head up to I-90, and take it west from there. But the river stopped us, and the bridge had been damaged as well; I chided myself for not thinking of that possibility.

  I ran my hand through my hair and walked around to the trunk. There was an atlas along with the spare tire and jack. I grabbed it and flipped it open to Nebraska. “If we follow some of the small county roads and a couple of the gravel back roads, I can still get us to I-90,” I said, trailing my finger along the proposed route. “It will just take about twice as long.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’re in a hurry,” Jack said, ripping open an MRE for Parker.

  “No, we’re not,” I agreed, and climbed back in the car.

  A few hours later, we stopped to get fuel at a small gas station. My mom had managed several of these stations. I knew how to turn the pumps on; it was just a matter of if there was any gas left. Thankfully, there was.

  Fueled up and replenished with snacks, I let Parker have what he wanted from the store to play with. He took some coloring books and markers and settled himself once more amongst his bed of pillows and blankets in the back seat.

  Jack took a turn driving, and despite my best intentions, I fell asleep. As night was falling, I woke up to the feeling of the car slowing down.

  “We are running low on gas again,” he said, pulling into a small town whose weathered sign showed it to be Vivian, South Dakota, population 119. And judging by the desolation and smoldering remains of vehicles, I thought that would be an overestimation.

  We had figured out a routine with gassing the car: pull up to the pump, lock the doors, one person got the gas, the other kept watch. And with that plan, we were on the road and driving within minutes, leaving Vivian and its eerie stillness behind.

  Jack and I took turns driving, sleeping in shifts. Every so often we would pull over, let the car cool down, and stretch our legs. We stopped to admire the scenic beauty of the badlands and have a lunch of MREs.

  After two days of driving and backtracking through small side roads when the interstate was blocked, we had finally made it to Montana and were on our way north on Highway 15.

  It was then, in a little town named Sun Prairie, I met my first “thinker.” We had fueled the car. Jack took Parker to the bathroom, and I was collecting some things to eat. He stumbled out of the back room, and the tag on his shirt dubbed him Vincent. Before I could stop myself, I had said his name out loud.

  He paused, narrowed his eyes, and grunted. He had a huge bite mark taken out of his left bicep. It looked fresh, and still oozed blood.

  I moved to the left; he mimicked me. I stepped to the right, he did also. “Can you understand me?” When he took a few steps towards me, I brought my gun up, and he stopped. I frowned; obviously he knew what a gun was. No other zombie that I had seen was concerned with guns.

  I was on the verge of asking more questions when his head exploded. The sound of gunshot echoed in the store, making my ears ring.

  “For fucks sake, Red!” Jack yelled. “What were you planning on doing, dancing with it?”

  “But Jack, it understood me. It was thinking,” I said, feeling both embarrassed and fascinated at the same time.

  “The only thing he was thinking about was taking a bite out of you. These things are dangerous. You know better than that.” He was right, I did, but the discovery that Vincent represented had overwhelmed my better judgment. I should have shot him when I saw him, not asked him questions.

  “You want to collect a sample, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I really do,” I said grinning.

  “Well, go on then, just be careful.” I smiled even broader and opened a box of sandwich bags. I carefully picked up some pieces of Vincent’s brain that had been blown all over the floor and packed them in a small thermos that I filled with ice. Jack then kept watch while I re-filled our cooler and supplies.

  While I was settling Parker, I heard a scream that made my blood run cold. I slammed the door shut and turned around to see Jack wrestling with a zombie that had its jaws locked onto his neck.

  As I watched, in those torturously slow seconds, Jack brought his gun up and fired once into the zombie’s head. He fell to the floor in a rotting, maggot ridden heap. I slowly walked into the store. Not once did I break eye contact with Jack.

  “Sharon,” he said, gasping in pain; it was the first time he had ever called me by my actual name. “I know I’ve been an ass, but please, don’t let me be a zombie.” I started crying then. Just last week I could not stand this man. Now he was a fellow survivor and a connection to my old, safe life. I didn’t want to lose him.

  “Jack…” I whispered, reaching towards him.

  “No!” He shouted and jerked away so forcefully that he slipped in his own blood and fell. “There isn’t much time; I can already feel it burning in my veins. Please…” he said as his heart pumped his life’s blood out through the gaping hole in his neck.

  “You are a good man, Jack,” I said, wiping away my tears with a trembling hand. “I wish I had come to know that man sooner,” and then I took aim and fired twice. He fell to the floor with a meaty thud. I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep back the animal moan of pain that threatened. When I turned, I saw Parker in the window, his palms pressed to the glass and eyes wide. I looked away, unable to bear what I saw in that little face. I left the .357 with Jack—it was his gun.

  Eighteen hours later, I turned down the road that led to the lodge. When I saw it standing there, perfect and untouched, I laughed. And if that laughter held a trace of hysteria, I chose to ignore it.

  CHAPTER 22

  Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada

  Gerry

  The fire in the engine compartment was tragic but manageable. The flames died after we emptied the contents of two fire extinguishers onto it. Even so, the fire had done a fair bit of damage, and smoke still billowed up into the sky like a beacon.

  The engine laboured louder and louder, choked, and then sputtered to a stop. Angled as we were, we’d be able to coast into the docks, but then what? We’d be legging it from now on until a vehicle could be found.
I tossed an empty fire extinguisher over the side, into the water, and cursed under my breath.

  “Kyle!”

  Kyle popped his head up through the door that led below deck. His face was blood-splattered and pale, and tears streaked the grime on his cheeks. “Y-yeah?”

  “Did anybody get hit back there?”

  “Jester. He’s dead.”

  “Who?”

  “Marcus. He got it in the throat. They tried to stop the blood, but there was just too much. By the time I got there…”

  “It’s shitty, Kyle, but you gotta stow what you’re feeling. The boys need you.I need you. Are you with me?”

  Kyle stared wide-eyed at the blood on his hands, but nodded. “I’m with you.”

  “Good. Any injuries?” Seeing Kyle crying broke my heart, and I felt like shit for sounding callous, but we needed to keep it together or we were fucked.

  “Yeah, lots, but the only bad one was Noname—I mean Tim. He took a bullet through his arm. Kelly tied it off and got the blood stopped.”

  “Kelly? Who’s Kelly?”

  “Her mom is… her mom was a nurse. She took a first aid course.”

  “There’s a girl on this boat?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Just get everyone taken care of, and wrap up Marcus’ body in a sheet and get someone to help you bring it up here. I need everyone else who isn’t hurt up on deck, and tell them to bring only crossbows.”