Season of the Dead

by Adams, Lucia

  Fred moaned when the truck jerked to a start. When he woke up in the night, he complained pain, but stable. He said I saved him, but I knew my botched job could give way and he was guaranteed an infection of some sort. The surgery increased his chances of surviving, but they still were far from good. I’d switched his IV to antibiotics. I wasn’t sure what hadn’t expired or gone bad, so I opted for the Cleocin, pulled the internal plug inside of the IV, causing the powdered medicine to cascade down into the saline, and then shook it until it dissolved. Most hospitals and physicians’ offices had switched to digital versions of the Physician’s Desk Reference years ago, so I had no way of checking dosages on any of the medications. I knew I could probably find an out-dated copy in some second-hand thrift store, but I wasn’t about to stop and search. The IVs I’d given Fred were a risk I was willing to take to save his life, but since he’d been awake, I’d switched him to oral pain killers.

  I was determined to do two things: drive until we made it to Lake McArthur, and get out of the truck as little as possible. I would only fill the gas tank in wide-open spaces and I’d do so as quickly as possible. Tasks that were frightening with two people were now terrifying on my own.

  I started taking some of the speed I’d looted from the pharmacies. Adipex and other stimulants, like medication for ADD, kept me awake as I rolled miles under and beyond. After just two days of being awake, my eyes felt parched with the need for rest. My muscles ached, and I was cranky. Tired people make mistakes. I knew this.

  Canada was barren of towns for the most part. I had no choice but to fill the gas tank in a wooded area—it was all we had passed for hours. I was strictly avoiding any populated area and the main highways.

  *

  They came out of the woods—a dozen of them at first, approaching me from the front of the truck, near the door I so desperately sought. I ran. Like a scared kitten, I climbed a tree, but poorly. My rifle was slung around my shoulder and I struggled to get traction on the bark. The wood chips took bites out of my skin as I clawed my way to the first branch large enough to hold my weight. Zombies had already reached the tree, but their attempts to climb were even more poorly executed than my own.

  I stood on the branch and stretched to the next highest one up. I almost lost my balance as my abdomen swayed outward, but I was saved by my fingertips digging under the bark. I climbed higher and straddled a large branch. My legs locked around it at the ankles, and my thighs squeezed with all of the strength they could.

  I positioned my rifle and began picking them off. The smell made me gag and vomit burst into my mouth, which I gladly spewed on the crowd below. A group had surrounded the truck, pawing at it, moaning and scratching at the metal. I had kept the doors locked, so Fred was safe—for now.

  One emerged from the woods, its intestines trailing out of its ass, but the loop of entrails had caught on an old log. The monster whimpered grimly as it realized its predicament, but knew not how to free itself. I considered ending its misery, because, after all, it was a human of sorts. I shook off the idea since I only had so many bullets, and returned to shooting the zombies below me.

  The kick of the rifle wasn’t forceful, but I still worried about falling. The monsters below me were easy enough to kill with one shot. Those by the truck took longer. I didn’t want to shoot the truck, and I didn’t want to waste bullets. Despite this, I knew I had to hurry. It was getting dark in the forest, and as time passed, more and more zombie crept from the shadows of the trees.

  When there were just four left near the truck, I decided to run for it. They weren’t the super-fast zombies, but they weren’t the slow ones either. Mid-threat feeders were still dangerous. I climbed out on the lowest tree limb and jumped down, trying to avoid the pile of dead zombies skewed at the base of the tree. I fell when I landed, but I had expected as much. I regained my footing and ran. Two of the zombies walked towards me and I picked them off with head shots. Another waited for me near the front, but the last one kept scratching at the truck. I couldn’t shoot the one closest to me because I might hit the truck. I circled him—a grandfatherly looking man with suspenders over his bloodied flannel shirt, and he reached for me. I got a good angle on the shot, and I took it. One bullet in the head, and he didn’t drop. This startled me. I put three quick ones into his neck until it separated from the stem of his body with a cracking sound, and gooey strings of connective tissue stretched between the two. He dropped and I turned my attention to the final zombie humping the truck.

  She was wearing one blue slipper and a robe. She turned to look at me and I saw she was missing the bottom half of her jaw.No wonder she moved so slowly…she probably hasn’t been able to feed for a long time, I thought. I got close enough so I wouldn’t miss, and I popped two bullets into her forehead.

  I heard a growl and turned around. Standing in the middle of the road, about fifty feet away, was the mother-bubba of all obese zombie women. I ran around to the side of the truck and frantically searched my pocket for the truck key. She thundered towards me; her enormous tits and belly rolls waved up and down with each bounding step she took.

  The door opened. I looked up and saw Fred. He had crawled forward and unlocked the door. I jumped inside and slammed the door shut as soon as my pursuer collided with the truck. No law of physics could explain how she would have been able to stop the motion of that ocean of blubber, so I realized a collision was inevitable.

  She was angry! It was as though her bucket of fresh-meat limbs had just been taken away from her. She threw herself at the truck, denting the metal inward.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Lucia!”

  “I’m trying!” My hands shook so bad that I couldn’t fit the key into the ignition. She charged the truck again, bounced off and fell backwards this time. I fit the key in and started the truck. I backed up so we didn’t run over the moose-sized zombie. She continued to chase us, but gave up after a while. I turned the truck around and headed back the road we’d already traveled.

  “Thank you, Fred.”

  “Don’t mention it. I heard them clawing at the truck, but there wasn’t anything I could do.”

  “It’s okay. I need to be more careful. Oh, shit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I pissed my pants!”

  CHAPTER 24

  Dublin, Ireland

  Paul

  “Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut?” a muffled voice asked. I nodded; there wasn’t much else I could do. “Have you been bitten?” I shook my head. “You sure?” I felt the grip around me tighten. I shook my head, vigorously. “Okay, I’m going to let you go now. Turn around really slowly.” I did.

  Standing in front of me was a sight almost scarier than the fucking zombies. Whoever he was, he was dressed from head to toe in black. On his head was a black helmet, black goggles, and what looked like a gas mask covered his face. On his body he wore black body armour, and underneath was black military gear. He had pistols, knives, shells, bullets, and what looked suspiciously like grenades strapped to him. In his arms he carried an assault rifle.

  “Jesus! What the fuck is that?” I said, pointing at his weapon.

  “Steyr AUG A3,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a gun,” he said. I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine the expression.

  Suddenly, he brought the rifle up. I froze, with my jaw hanging open. A blast of automatic gunfire ripped through the quiet of the night. I turned to see a crumpled mess lying in the doorway—the leprechaun’s mate. I exhaled a loud sigh of relief; I thought he was going to shoot me.

  “Have you fired a gun before?” he asked me.

  I shook my head. I was going to ask him if paintballing counted, but didn’t think he’d appreciate the joke.

  “Here,” he said pulling a shotgun from a holster on his back. “Hold this end, point it this way. And try not to shoot yourself, or me.”

  I took the shotgun from him and pumped it. Now we’re fuckin’ talkin�
��!

  “Okay, follow me, stay low, and stay close to the wall. They’ll be moving slower now because of the drop in temperature, but they are still dangerous. Do not let them get close. Do not get their blood on you, especially your eyes, nose, mouth.”

  I decided it was probably not a good idea to tell him about my mad axe frenzy.

  “Wait!” I said. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Army Ranger Wing,” he said.

  My heart leapt—the Army! Not just ordinary Army either—Special Forces. Was this the rescue? Was it possible that life could somehow return to normal, or at least one where we returned to the top of the food chain? I wanted to ask him, but he seemed preoccupied. It was at least nice to have someone in charge.

  We crept out into the night.

  “Where are we going?” I whispered, as we hugged the wall on Burgh Quay. He stopped then and answered. His voice sounded agitated or impatient—it was hard to tell.

  “Dáil Éireann,” he said.

  The Irish House of Parliament? What the hell were we going there for, I wondered? Did we even have a government anymore? We turned the corner into Westmoreland Street and froze. The street was wide enough for four lanes of traffic but it was still filled with zombies. There were hundreds of them—milling around slowly, thankfully—but they were there, dark shapes emitting a collective low drone. My blood froze.

  “We’re gonna need more guns,” I said.

  He brought his fingers up to where his lips would be behind the mask, then spoke into some sort of communication device. I didn’t think anything worked anymore, but I suppose if shit did, the Army would have it. Then I heard a rumble.

  Bright lights lit up the street as an engine roared to life. My soldier put his hand on my chest and pushed me back against the wall. With the street now illuminated by spotlights, I could see clearly just how many there were. I shuddered involuntarily; how the hell were we going to get through them? I needn’t have worried.

  Two loud explosions erupted in the middle of the street, sending bits of zombie spiraling through the air. This was followed by the thunderous crack of automatic gunfire.

  “Holy shit, what the fuck is that?”

  “Mowag Piranha,” he answered.

  “A fucking tank!” I wanted to scream and jump for joy—a fucking tank.

  “An armoured personnel carrier,” he corrected me.

  It rolled into view, gunfire from a manned turret on top cutting zombies in half. Any that got in the way were simply driven over. The zombies scattered in every direction, including ours. The soldier started cutting them down with short blasts from the Steyr. I joined in, discharging and pumping the shotgun. Zombies exploded in front of me. I’m not sure how well I would have coped had they been running at their full speed, but with them lumbering like geriatrics in a nursing home, it was almost kind of fun.

  He spoke into his collar again, and the turret ceased fire.

  “Go!” he said, pushing me forward. We both ran towards the armoured car. A hatch opened at the front, and I clambered up. As I turned I saw a zombie reaching for the soldier and grabbing his shoulder. He stumbled and fell; the zombie landed on top of him. I couldn’t fire the shotgun or I’d probably hit him, I jumped back down, dropping the gun. I still had the axe.

  He was face down with the weight of the zombie on top of him. The thing was trying to bite him but seemed to be having problems with the body armour. Two more soldiers spilled out of the hatch. They were shouting and roaring, probably telling me to get out of the way. I was deaf to their words. All I could see was the monster trying to eat the first man who had brought me some hope, the first positive thought I’d had in weeks. I slid the axe from my belt.

  Everything slowed down for me. I was overcome with a sort of euphoria, a sadistic joy to feel the weight of the axe in my hand. When I looked back on it later, it sort of scared me. Freaked me a little to think how comfortable, how right it felt. How easy it was to become a killer. I hacked at the zombie with the axe, each swing cutting deep cuts into its neck. It squealed each time—a pitiful sob. I’m not sure if it was from the blows or because I was denying it a meal.

  The two soldiers kicked it off and helped their colleague up, and all four of us dove into the hatch. Inside the armoured car, I sat opposite the soldier. He pulled off his helmet and mask, and our eyes met. I could see the fear in his. The muscles in his cheek twitched; his hands shook. He nodded to me, an unspoken thanks.

  “Were you bitten?” somebody barked at him. He shook his head.

  “Are you sure you’re clean?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he answered. He looked away from me then, leaving both of us with our own thoughts. I wondered where his had gone.

  CHAPTER 25

  Lake McArthur, British Columbia, Canada

  Sharon

  Let no one say, and say it to your shame, that all was beauty here until you came, declared a wooden sign that had been nailed to the door of the lodge. At some point it had been affixed to a post and set into the ground. I could only imagine that as the caretakers fled, this was their last act of stewardship, a plea to any future tenants.

  Dawn painted the sky crimson, the hue reflecting in the lake, giving it the impression that the waters had been turned to blood. It was an unsettling thought, and one I tried to stamp down as hard as I could.

  I left Parker in the car, loaded my guns, and walked in. The door was closed, but unlocked. A very anxious hour later, I had checked every room, closet, and peered under every bed; the lodge was clear. I then walked around the building, closing the shutters over the windows, and making sure that the back door was securely locked.

  A shed, just behind the property, housed a four-wheeler with a trailer attached to it, along with two generators that had been covered with tarps. They were on wheels, so I hauled them inside the lodge for safekeeping. For now we had power, but I didn’t know how long that would last. I’d feel silly if the generators were stolen because I hadn’t secured them. The keys to the four-wheeler were in the ignition. I pocketed those and closed the doors behind me.

  The black Mustang sat next to an old, yellow bus that was used to shuttle passengers from the parking area, twenty minutes away, to the lodge. I shoved open the door and checked the bus too, making sure nothing was lurking in there. It was clear, and like before, the keys were in the ignition. I imagined that theft wasn’t a big issue up here, and it was likely that was where the keys were normally kept, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t know how to drive a bus, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it. As I walked back to the lodge, I jingled. I was starting to feel like a janitor with all my keys.

  I unloaded the car, hauled in some firewood, and settled Parker on the sofa before the fire. I had tried to leave him in one of the rooms upstairs, but he would not let me out of his sight. So, while I worked setting up our new home, he played his DS. The tinkling sounds of Mario Cart actually helped to dull the horrors of the past few days by adding a touch of normalcy.

  The lodge had been empty for several months. The milk had soured, and the bread had gone moldy. I breathed a sigh of relief when I opened the freezer to see it crammed full of frozen meat. Rummaging around in the cabinets, I found a crock-pot and put one of the small roasts in it, along with an onion from the cupboard, a few potatoes that had not rotted, and a handful of herbs that just said ‘meat rub’. It smelled good, so I figured it would be safe.

  The pantry was stocked with canned goods, jars of homemade jams, sauces, and vegetables that the lodge had evidentially grown in the garden out back. The shed with the generators had been full of gardening implements. I presumed it had been the groundskeeper’s shed, and that was what the four-wheeler and trailer were for. I had snagged everything with a sharp edge on it and brought it inside. I preferred to have anything that could be used as a weapon under my control. Hell, I probably would have brought the quad-runner in if I could have figured out a way to fit it through the door.

  The
lower level of the lodge was situated around a common room that had a massive fireplace with a collection of mismatched sofas and chairs gathered around it. Along the side of the lodge, overlooking the lake, was a long dining hall. I appropriated one end to set up my equipment.

  The reception area had a desk, an ancient PC, and filing cabinets. I put the generators and tools in there and closed the door. The kitchen ran along the length of the back of the lodge, and despite its rustic feel, it was rather modern. A huge refrigerator, a massive deep-freeze, stainless steel counter tops, and a double oven filled every available space. A beat up wooden table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room and was where Parker and I would have our meals.

  Upstairs there were eight bedrooms, each with two twin beds. Another seating area that faced a balcony was at one end, while the restrooms were at the other. The bathrooms had been shared by the guests, and to my delight, they both had an antique claw-footed tub. I paused for a moment to stare wistfully at one, envisioning sinking up to my nose in bubbles while the warm water eased away my aching muscles and tired mind. Perhaps after Parker went to sleep, I told myself.

  As the smell of roasting meat filled the kitchen, I went through the refrigerator. I poured the clabbered milk down the sink, grateful that there was still running water. The rotten vegetables and moldy bread, I tossed out back. I couldn’t eat it, but perhaps whatever wildlife was left in the area would appreciate the meal. Raccoons would eat the vegetables, and the birds could use the bread. I tore it up into little pieces to make it easier for them.

  Opposite the dining hall was the boiler room. A sink with a toilet sat along one wall, an industrial washer and dryer set lined the other, while an enormous hot water heater sat at the end next to the boiler. I grabbed some matches, lit the pilot light with a whoosh, and flipped the switch. Not long after, warm air began to flow out of the vents. I did the same with the hot water heater, nearly crying at the notion of a hot shower.