by Mark Tufo
Seven sets of keys. I almost hate to admit this, but I was debating on which ones I needed to take. Hey! Don’t fault me. I was stressed out and was feeling the time crunch to get back to my loved ones, and in the end I figured it out anyway. I took them all. I’m smart like that. I was feeling pride at my accomplishment, of figuring out my little conundrum, when I heard footfalls of someone (thing) rapidly approaching.
“Shit, I never knew the fall cometh so quick after the smugness.”
They’d worked together and had got through her bonds. My rifle strap was over my shoulder, and I had two handfuls of keys, not yet transferring them to my pockets. I let them fall to the ground. They hadn’t yet hit the floor when she launched herself. Yup, this one was no dummy. She wasn’t going to run into the desk like the vast majority of her brethren would have. She was going over it.
I ducked down as she went over. She had caught some serious air and launched right over me. Her right hand reached out and grabbed hold of my left ear. I thought she was going to rip the damn thing off. She didn’t let go until her head hit the wall. I’d been bent back at a wholly unnatural angle before losing my balance and falling over. My head was next to her abdomen. Her hands reached for me even while I struggled to right myself. Getting the gun was out of the question. It had fallen off and was mostly under her. There was a screech emanating from her that I could just make out on the peripheries of my hearing range. If I had two guesses, one would be she was calling for back up, or two, she was wondering what wine would go with her upcoming meal. Her hands were desperately seeking purchase wherever they could land while she moved her torso to get her mouth into position.
Her face was gaunt, her cheeks sunken, her teeth rotten. It was clear to see she was starving. I just didn’t want to be the one to cure her condition. Not sure why this group hadn’t chosen stasis. Perhaps the bindings had something to do with it. Didn’t really have the time at the moment to dwell on it. She landed a bite on to the bridge of my hat. She twisted her head back and forth, triumphantly thinking she was getting sustenance. It gave me the moment I needed, allowing me to get a leg into her mid-section. I pushed her along the floor and away. She was resilient if nothing else. She twisted, coming back again for the next round just as I reached behind me, getting my arm up on the desk so I could hurry myself along. I don’t know if I had the Lords of Combat on my side or they were doing an experiment. My hand touched a tool I thought was long ago forgotten in this modern era. My hand closed on a letter opener. Maybe the average Joe had no use for one, but I’d imagine someone who had to open a hundred letters a day might appreciate the knife-like apparatus.
It must have been a gift. The metal itself seemed made of silver, and the handle was a burnished walnut or equally expensive wood and was also engraved. I’m sure that the person who got it would have appreciated a bonus or a gift card more. This was akin to getting your wife a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. Sure she might need one, but what the fuck, man. Do you never want to get laid again? Wow, serious departure from the subject at hand…. I brought the impromptu blade past my face and lodged it deeply into the zombie’s cheek. I could see the glint of the blade through her open mouth. It was about as appealing as it sounds. It got worse when I skewered that little hanging thing in the back of her throat, you know, the thing that makes a normal person want to gag when you touch it? Not the zombie though, she didn’t even flinch. I withdrew the blade and went to drive it deep into the side of her head, and may have succeeded if she hadn’t thrown up her arm in a defensive gesture.
A large portion in the very heavy majority wanted to, almost needed to, forget the blood that ran through me. I knew I recovered better. I knew I ran faster. I knew I was stronger. I knew all those things on a fundamental level, though I did not acknowledge them. I didn’t want to because of what it entailed. Because of all the negativity that surrounded these enhancements. Right now, this zombie had me in a precarious position. Her block of my strike had me falling over to the side with her coming down right on top, and I was in much need of help. I reached out with my mind, something I hadn’t done in a long while, something I’d never wanted to do again. This made my genital glazing earlier feel like a sponge bath in natural spring water by comparison. The mind I touched was as black as her teeth and as fathomlessly evil as one without a soul could be. I would not turn that mirror on myself, not now, not ever.
There was a hesitation in her movements as she felt my presence. I didn’t get the feeling it was one lone thought but more of a collective, like there was a vast committee in her head, all with one goal, with one purpose, but many entities trying to bring this about. And even as I formed a thought, I felt other presences in there as well … the same but different. I was seeing multiple views from the other zombies. Most were looking at the desk and desperately wanted to join in the feeding. Others, I saw them as they were chewing through their cables. She’d have help and soon.
“Stop!” I forced through our mind waves, or whatever the hell the link we talked on went over.
Again, she hesitated. The downward pressure she was forcing on me eased up just the slightest amount. I didn’t wait for her response before I began to use this to my advantage. After my earlier encounters with Re-Pete my fully remote-controlled zombie, I expected more of the same. When the resounding “No” came through our connection, I’ve got to admit I was more than a little surprised, shocked, and scared. And probably some more “s” adjectives. It hadn’t bought me much time, but enough that I could change the momentum of her downward push. We were nearly face to face, and unlike others of her kind, she wasn’t blindly chomping at the bit, hoping that something got stuck between her chompers. She was waiting for an opening, greedily eyeing my forearms. My left hand was trying to close around her neck. My right was pushing on her side. I still clutched the opener tightly. She had more coordination than most, but at times, it still seemed like she was a toddler trying her best to figure out how all the parts worked independently and in unison.
I brought my right hand up. She was defending her vulnerable temple, and then it dawned on me because, well I’m just that quick, that she knew what I was going for because we were still linked. I severed the connection. The damage had been done, for her at least. She over-committed to her temple, leaving most of her face completely exposed. I shoved that opener as deep into her eye socket as I could. I just nicked the side of her orb, cutting into it like it was a soft piece of cheese. As I pushed the blade in deeper, it forced her oozing eyeball out, the optic nerve holding it attached. It swung like a pendulum down by her ample breasts. Yes, I noticed them; being a guy can sometimes be one of the easiest things in the world. We are so hardwired for certain things as to become predictable in our behavior. I’m not saying I found her lust-worthy; it’s just that I couldn’t help checking out her breasts, which signified her ability to simultaneously attract a mate and feed her children. Although in her case, she could have kept a daycare facility amply supplied.
There was a shriek of pain from her as I pushed deeper, and then she was still. I hadn’t realized it at first, but the cry wasn’t auditory. She had passed that signal through the link we had in common and that I’d thought I had previously disconnected. Maybe strong emotions could override the off switch. When I was certain she would not stir, I let her drop to the floor. I let her have the wooden handled skewer, my gift to her. I didn’t screw around. I braced on the top of the desk, and shot the fish in the barrel. I was fine that they couldn’t move much; made my job easier. When it came to zombies, I was under the personal opinion there was no morality involved. These weren’t fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters—not black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Muslim, Catholics, Hindu—they were just fucking zombies. In some ways, they’d figured out how to create peace and unity by stripping away all of those man-made designations. Of course, it could have been that they all had a common enemy: us. Who knows, maybe when we were all gone, they would break down into their own groups,
shufflers, speeders, bulkers, and brainers. That would be great if they’d start killing each other now, make my job easier.
I’d killed all but one zombie. He looked to each of his fallen comrades and then to me as I came from behind the desk and approached, my rifle still upraised and against my shoulder. His lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing all of his teeth. He pulled against his restraints, not to run away but to run at me.
“Fuck you,” I told him evenly. I don’t believe it was the words that worked him up into a frenzy but rather the sound. He was rocking back and forth, violently trying to shake loose from his bonds. I think I could have told him I’d bought him a flying pony for his birthday and he would have been just as crazed. “Sucks to be you.” I was within a foot of him. He stopped moving. He growled and leaned forward, desperately trying to rest his forehead against my barrel. I fired. His feet slipped out from under him, and he cracked down onto the ground with a skull-shattering impact.
I grabbed all the keys and headed outside of the building. There was a line of zombies at the fence. I felt like a captive lone wolf at the zoo who had finally come out from his hiding den and four classes of excited fifth graders on a field trip had just spotted me. They all moved down on the fence, bunching up so they could get a better look.
“Yeah, that’s not creepy.” It was, but not as creepy as it was about to get. I’d hopped into the nearest truck, pulling the door shut. I was more than a little concerned when I tried all the keys and none of them fit. “The next will work.” I wasn’t totally confident, but what the hell was I going to say to myself? “You can always hitchhike.” When I stepped out of the truck, I took note that some of the zombies weren’t completely fixated on me but rather looking to the building, actually up at the building.
“What’s that all about?” I came a little closer to where the zombies were pressed against the fence. I had hopes they would press hard enough to make zombie play-dough push through the diamond shaped wedges. It would have been gross, no doubt, but highly satisfying. I tilted my head up. I was looking at dozens of zombies looking down at me. They were trapped on the second and third floors. Had to have been at least fifty of them. “Don’t you dare!” I shouted at my nuts. They wanted to migrate back up into my stomach, where they could safely hide. My mouth went dry as I looked up. It took me a moment to realize that some of the zombies up there were beginning to leave. I wanted to believe that they were getting bored and were going back to their desks to go play a rousing game of solitaire or something, but that wasn’t it. They were looking for a way down, and if they had any brainers in their pack, odds were they’d figure it out.
“Next truck.” I rushed off. The third key slid in effortlessly. There was a chime and a slow steady whir then the triumphant cough of an engine firing. “Thank you,” I said, momentarily letting my head rest against the steering wheel. I wanted to thank God, but I was still holding a grudge for all the things that had befallen not only me but everyone. Of course, I knew it was the hubris of man that had done all of this, but as our overseer, He should have maybe been a little more diligent, perhaps giving a healthy case of leprosy to the originator of the virus. Then I realized that might not have been such a great idea since my lineage was tied to it. “Umm, we good?” I asked looking up. I’d not been hit with an errant meteorite, figured that was as clear a message as any.
“Gonna have to get out and open the gate.” I laughed at myself as I pressed down on the gas. I really wanted to plow into the part where all the zombies were congregating, but I tempted fate every day that I awoke. Maybe right now was not the time to keep pushing that envelope. Instead of folding over, the gate actually swung outwards. I was relishing in the small victory when it scared the shit out of me by swinging back and smacking hard into the side of the truck. Didn’t do much except scratch the paint and give me a coronary; other than that, we were good. I beeped the horn as one final “fuck you” and took off back to town. For as long, arduous, and dangerous the trip to get the truck had been, I was literally back to the post office in under ten minutes.
Unfortunately, the zombies had not departed during my absence, although I think I would have been severely pissed off since this would have made necessitating getting the whole truck thing a moot point. Three heads popped up on the roof as I rolled in. I waved up. They waved back. Pretty sure we were all feeling high levels of relief at this moment. Now came the tricky part. Just because I had a means of escape did not mean the zombies were going to allow me to use it unhindered. I slowed way down, put the truck into low, and powered forward. The zombies that were coming to meet me were greeted with a few tons of steel. The first lucky few were pushed over, and I ran over them, leaving them relatively unscathed. That was, of course, the ones that didn’t end up under the wheels; they were crushed like giant cockroaches. The resultant spray out of organic material was hideous, to say the least, as it splashed against curbs and buildings, some of it going as far as twenty feet to red wash walls.
Then as more zombies began to strike the front, more and more flowed around the sides, some reaching out and grabbing hold. The engine, although not quite taxed yet, was beginning to feel the accumulated effects of all the zombies as the RPMs nudged up. Although I was going no faster, I’d actually lost a mile per hour or so. Two zombies were on the running board next to me, one holding on to the mirror, the other the door handle. They weren’t beating on the glass, which would have been better than the stare they were giving me while they pondered their next moves.
“Think all you want, assholes. I’ve got a little surprise for you.” I hopped the curb with the truck, shook a couple of the other bastards off like a dog does fleas. Not my new buddies though; they were stuck like barnacles. The mirror was the first thing to go as I scraped up against the building. The zombies were leaving a trail of shredded clothing and then finally skin and blood as I rubbed against the coarse brick building. Still, they held on.
“You’re grossing me the hell out,” I told them as they shook from the contact and the ass sanding they were receiving. The one holding the door handle was finally scrubbed away like a bad toilet stain. He rolled down the whole length of the truck before dropping off the end. My mirror guy was much more stubborn. I realized I was going to completely pass the building by. I put the truck in reverse. I finally loosened the stubborn bastard. As he rolled along the hood, I could hear the sound of heavy bones grinding together while he was wheeled away. For good measure, once he’d fallen to the ground, I went back into drive and ran over him. I stopped the truck—you can believe this or not, but for some fucking reason, it was at this very moment I decided to check the fuel gauge. Yeah, I already know that’s pretty irresponsible of me. You don’t need to remind me. Apparently, my appeasement to God had worked because I was sitting comfortably at three quarters full.
I again thanked Him. You could say that He had nothing to do with it, that a person had filled this up. Sure, I can agree with that. I can also agree that I could have picked out another truck that was running on fumes. Listen, I’m not a wise person, a diviner or sage or anything. I do know there are plenty of things in this world I have no clue as to how they operate or why. But when you can use all the help that you can, why close any prospective doors just because you don’t think there’s something on the other side? If a great brown-green crocodile alien warrior arose and wanted to give me help right now, you can bet your ass I’d take it. Sure, I’d be scared as hell of it, but one thing at a time. I’d deal with the walking luggage when the time came.
I was as close to the building as I could be and still allow myself room to get out of the truck using the window. Couldn’t be the door. If I could fit, so could the zombies. And I could not have them in between the truck and the wall. That needed to be a zombie-free zone for our escape. The window sloped away from the wall, and this was the only reason I could wriggle out. Felt like a newborn seeking release from the womb. It was a tight fit as I pulled myself free. I’d no sooner got on
the roof of the truck than a couple of zombies got on the hood.
“This is just so much fucking fun!” I booted the first one that tried to run up the windshield. Must have been a hell of a kick because I saw at least three teeth go to the right as his head spun to the left. His head took the rest of him spiraling off and into the crowd much like a stage diving rock group lead singer. Although instead of crowd surfing, he kind of just hung there in the air. I had to twist too far to get an effective kick on the next zombie. A glancing blow on the shoulder paused his progress. I was done playing king of the hill, and I ran for the lift. The only way to be safe was to get out of their range. When I hopped in the bucket, this was another of those moments where I maybe should have taken a moment in a less hostile environment to familiarize myself with the controls, and maybe even more importantly, make sure the damn truck wasn’t in service for the hydraulics.
“Okay God, I know I’m kind of overusing the ‘I’m Your child and all’ card, but fuck, just this one last time, I mean, for this minute anyway. I can’t speak for the next minute. Could You just maybe let this thing work?” I didn’t bother with the safety door as I jumped into the small booth. I hadn’t been expecting it to move the way it did. Gotta tell you it didn’t leave me feeling comfortable. There were three controls, a green push button labeled “Power,” a small joystick for moving the arm around, and under a clear plastic cover, a red button labeled “Emergency.” Not sure exactly what that did, but if depressing it made some machine guns or flame throwers appear, that would really help with this emergency. I was pretty sure that was not what would happen, but in that very moment, you have no idea how much I wanted to give it a go.
The green button backlit when I pressed it. I took that as a good sign. Then I nearly tossed myself out of the bucket when I jerked the arm to the right. “Holy shit!” I shouted when I realized that less was definitely more. The controls had a feather touch. Damn near cracked my neck from the whiplash. The only decent thing that came out of it was that I sent three zombies airborne off the truck, and at least two of them had smashed their heads hard enough they were going to be out of the fight. I’d not yet learned the finesse of the stick. I swung back and missed crashing into the post office by inches.