Scott lifted John up by his armpits. “We gotta throw him into the zombies. Help me.”
As Scott lifted John, Steve stepped up to help. Together, the two of them dragged John over and then they shoved him into the zombies.
As John fell in a sprawling heap on the zombies, they moved back and made those guttural sounds again. “Aaaugggh! Maaaguuughhh!”
And then with seemingly lightning speed, the switch was flicked.
They attacked.
John hadn’t even hit the ground yet when Zombie #1 grabbed his arm and yanked him up. As John was hauled up, Zombie #2 dove forward and clamped his jaws in the hollow of his neck.
John’s eyes flew open and he screamed.
The zombies tore into John in a frenzy.
Scott took an involuntary step backward; they all did. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from John struggling in the zombies’ grip as they tore and bit into his flesh.
Zombie #2 had torn a chunk of flesh from John’s neck and was chewing it. Zombie #1’s fingernails made deep gouges in John’s arm as he sought firm purchase, trying to get a foothold on what was offered. Zombie #1’s face dove forward and bit a chunk of John’s cheek away from his face, the flesh tearing away with a wet ripping sound. John’s scream became a gurgle as Zombie #2’s long-nailed fingers clawed into his belly, pushing their way through hard muscle. Blood flowed, and John struggled furiously as he was held firmly by the two zombies.
Scott watched, not breathing. Beside him Dave, Steve, and Gordon stood with tense expressions, their features showing a mixture of fear, excitement and awe.
“Holy shit,” Steve murmured.
“Fuck!” Dave said.
Gordon said nothing, as did Scott.
John was caught in the grip of the zombies. His eyes were wide with pain and fright, pleading in urgency to be saved. He reached out a bloodied arm and screamed again as Zombie #2 tore a chunk of flesh from it and shoved it into its mouth. A gout of blood geyesered from the wound and that seemed to be the end of the struggle for John. He collapsed, almost sagging to the ground, but the zombies kept him propped up as they tore into him and devoured him.
Rotted teeth tore into flesh. Decayed fingers with hard bone and nails pierced tender meat, tearing open muscle and gristle. Zombie #2’s fingers dug into John’s belly again, this time securing better hold, and ripped it open, exposing John’s digestive system. A horrible smell arose, a mixture of blood, and bile. Zombie #2 pulled something out, some unidentifiable organ that burst open when it fell to the ground. Another odor was released that overwhelmed him. Scott turned away, gagging, and he stepped back, seeking fresh air.
“Fuck,” Dave said again, following him.
“Shit,” Gordon said. He went further, heading outside into the night.
Scott took one final glance back before he followed his friends outside. John was on the ground now, on his back. The zombies were still feeding in a frenzied manner but John was no longer struggling. His sightless eyes stared upward.
Scott stumbled outside and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath of the night air and fought to retain his equilibrium. The sights and smells from inside made him swoon. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to contain his wits. His friends were doing the same thing; nobody wanted to be the first to puke.
“Holy fuck, man,” Steve said, his voice slightly strangled. He staggered away, heading toward the gazebo.
One by one they followed Steve, where they sat down on the benches that lined the gazebo’s interior. Scott slumped down, taking deep breaths. He felt light-headed but was beginning to feel calm, more in control. He sat there for a moment catching his breath, waiting for the sickness to subside.
Steve broke the silence. He let out a slight chuckle, his voice low, excited. “Goddamn man…that was fucking intense! Did you see that shit?”
“No shit, man,” Dave said, his tone of voice equally excited.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Scott said, still coming down from the excitement buzz. “But I have to say that was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Me too!” Dave clapped Gordon on the back. “You did it, man! You made real zombies!”
“Yeah, I did,” Gordon said. He looked at the others and smiled. Scott smiled back. Gordon’s face was flushed and Scott could see why. What happened in that guest house was some intense shit and they all looked blind-sided by it, but at the same time it was awesome.
“Tell me the truth,” Scott said to Gordon. “Did you know that would happen?”
Gordon shook his head. “No. I didn’t. I had an idea it might happen, but…” He shook his head. “I didn’t know it would happen like that.”
Neither did I, Scott thought. He took one last deep breath and stood up. “Let’s go inside and get a drink.”
They got up and headed into the house.
* * *
It was a good thing the attack had momentarily shocked the other guys. It helped explain Gordon’s own expression.
Gordon reclined in the living room easy chair, nursing a beer as the other guys relived the attack in excited tones. He grinned and made the occasional comment, especially when it came to John Elfman. “That fucker’s had this coming to him,” Gordon said. “Sonofabitch has been nothing but a complete asshole since the day we met him.”
“You got that right,” Scott said. He pounded his beer, set the bottle down on the coffee table. “Good riddance.”
“Did you see the way he looked at us when the zombies were eating him?” Steve exclaimed. He was the most excited of the bunch. He was pacing the living room, his lanky figure jittery with adrenalin that the alcohol was having no effect on. “He looked like he was crying to us for help!”
“What a dumb shit,” Dave said. He settled back on the sofa. “I still can’t believe that idiot came with us. Like he thought everything was going to be cool.”
“No shit,” Gordon said. John Elfman had been a thorn in his side, too, but not enough to kill him.
“So what do we do now?” Dave was looking at Scott. He took a swig of beer.
“I don’t know,” Scott said. He looked contemplative. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see how much of John gets eaten.”
“Shit’s gonna be a bitch to clean up,” Steve said. He finally plopped himself down on an easy chair.
“Yeah, it is,” Scott agreed. He took a sip of his own beer. “But it’s gotta be done. Dried blood is just gonna smell after while.”
“Those zombies are gonna smell worse,” Gordon said.
Scott nodded. For the first time he looked like he was seriously considering the complications of keeping two zombies in his guesthouse. “I say tomorrow we check and see what kind of mess we have. If there’s any pieces of John left, we snag them and burn them in the fireplace. Then we secure the zombies and clean all the blood and shit in the room. That will take care of that.”
“And then we hang those fucking air fresheners all over,” Steve suggested. “That’ll mask the smell.”
Scott nodded. “Exactly. There’s gonna be a week or so of some nasty ass rankness coming out of there and we have to mask it as much as possible.”
“What are we going to tell people if they ask us what happened to John?” Gordon asked. He’d reached a sort of zen state as far as fitting in with the mood of the general group; inside he was absolutely horrified over what they’d done and witnessed. He was more terrified of his own part in it. I helped make this happen, he thought. If I hadn’t gotten that book from Gaines, hadn’t suggested we turn them into zombies —
“Nobody saw us leave Susan’s party,” Dave said. “I made sure of that.”
“And he didn’t say anything to anybody else,” Steve confirmed. “John just talked to us.”
“His friends left him,” Gordon added.
Scott nodded. “If the cops ask where he went we just tell him we don’t know.”
“And if somebody did see him get into the car with us
, we tell the cops we dropped him off on Mill Valley Road near his house.”
They all nodded. Mill Valley Road was in a remote area of the county. It would be perfectly plausible for somebody to be dropped off there with no witnesses. It would be their collective word against anybody else’s.
“But we don’t volunteer that information,” Dave said.
“That won’t work,” Gordon said, his mind working at all the angles. “If we say that we don’t know what happened to him during a first round of questioning, then they find somebody who saw John getting into the SUV with us outside of Susan’s and they come back to us with that and we say, ‘oh yeah, well we did drive him home, but John wanted to be dropped off on Mill Valley Road. He wanted to sober up before he went home.’ We say that, it’ll look like we’re trying to hide something.”
“So we should contact the police and volunteer this information?” Scott asked.
“No. We just mention it the first time the police question us. If the police don’t question us, we don’t say anything.”
Scott mulled this over. It was a good approach. “I agree,” he said. He regarded the others, more confident. “This stays between us. If any of us is questioned separately we stick to the same story. John met up with us at Susan’s, we talked, he was really drunk and we drove him home, only he wanted to be dropped off at Mill Valley Road. That’s the last we saw of him. We don’t deviate from this simple story. Not one bit. Got me?”
The others nodded and Gordon grinned at him. “Yes sir, Master Scott!”
Dave and Steve laughed at this, guzzling their beers. Gordon cracked a grin. His take-charge demeanor was working.
In reality, he was a complete mess.
They spent the rest of the evening drinking and talking, reliving the incident. Gordon was mostly silent, observing his friends with subtle glances. They were gung ho, excited about what they’d done and they laughed about how they’d pulled one over on their long-hated nemesis. At one point Steve suggested they feed one of their other enemies to the zombies and Scott brought up Tim Gaines again. That was when Gordon spoke up. “We do that, especially if we’re questioned about John, the police are going to zero in on us,” he said. “The fact that they questioned me about losing that book at the cemetery is enough to nail me, but you guys have a history with him.” He settled his gaze on Scott. “And they’ll put two and two together.”
Scott sighed. “Fuck, I hate it when you’re rational.”
“Yeah,” Dave chuckled. “Thanks for blowing that particular fantasy, Gord.”
“He’s right, though,” Scott said. He drained the rest of his beer and quickly retrieved more. In the past hour they’d gone through a complete case. Scott’s parents wouldn’t notice. “Okay, so I guess the next one is just gonna have to be another homeless person.”
“Let’s nab one next week!” Steve said.
“I’m for that,” Dave agreed.
“First we gotta clean up what’s left of John and do what we can to mask the smell of those zombies,” Scott said. He was addressing all of them now and Gordon leaned forward, wanting to be involved in cleanup. It was his ass too. “We can’t get plastered tonight. We need to be sober enough to check them out in a few hours. If they’ve stopped eating, then we get them tied up and — ”
“How the hell are we going to do that if they’re still hostile?” Steve asked.
“Okay, so maybe we can’t tie them up,” Scott conceded. He was beginning to look frustrated. “We can…I don’t know…get some gardening tools like rakes and shit to pull body parts over to us and get rid of whatever’s left over. We’ll burn them. And as for the blood on the floor, we can throw lime on it.”
“Where the hell are we going to get lime?” Steve asked.
“There’s a bag of it in the gardening shed,” Scott answered. “Our gardener uses it.”
Gordon’s mind was working, thinking about all of this. “I think we can pull this off. Air fresheners to mask the smell is the next step. I say after we get whatever remains of John’s body out of there, we get some sleep, then three of us split up in opposite directions in the morning and get some air fresheners. Scott should stay here in case somebody comes around. Me, Dave, and Steve could head out to different counties to get air fresheners.”
“A whole shitload of them,” Dave said.
“Not enough to arouse suspicion,” Gordon said. He was surprising himself with how logical he was in his thinking process. “I say we make three stops each, in different parts of our assigned counties.”
Scott nodded. “Good idea. I say grab ten from every store you hit. That’ll give you thirty each.”
“That’s ninety tops,” Steve said. “That’ll be enough.”
“I’ll hit Dauphin County,” Gordon said. “Dave can hit York County and Steve can take Berks.”
The others were enthused with these plans. Scott got up and began collecting the empty beer bottles. Dave began to help clean up and Gordon joined in. As they cleaned the living room, Gordon worked everything over in his mind. This effort at covering their tracks would work. He was positive of it. They’d been careful until the last week, when they’d accidentally killed Zombie #2, and tonight, when they’d lured John away from Susan’s party. That had been an incredibly stupid thing to do, and Gordon had been against the idea from the beginning. The more he’d argued against luring somebody away from Susan’s party with the idea of feeding them to the zombies, the more Gordon realized that not only were the other three completely serious about it, but Scott was beginning to send shards of disappointment at him. He didn’t want to give Scott the impression he was going against the group. He wanted to appear that he was firmly on their side.
He didn’t want to give Scott the excuse to eventually feed him to the zombies.
Gordon had caught a little buzz while they spent the past hour reliving the feeding, and now as he assisted in living room cleanup he sobered up instantly. He still felt afraid for what was to come and felt a sense of shame at himself for what he’d participated in, but he was going to deal with it. He had to do something. Things were already going too far. It was only going to get worse in the days and weeks to come.
He had to put a stop to this somehow. Not to save somebody the pain and horror of being eaten. Not to save another homeless person.
He had to save his own skin.
He didn’t want to get in trouble.
Couldn’t afford to get in any kind of trouble of this magnitude.
As Gordon loaded the dishwasher he thought about his future, which was something he was beginning to take seriously, thanks to long talks with his parents. He wanted to go to college. His grades were fairly decent, and he was interested in Engineering. He wanted to go to college, major in Engineering, carve a future for himself. If he were arrested for the crimes he’d participated in, that would blow his future. He couldn’t let that happen. Why Scott wasn’t thinking about that was bewildering. Scott got better grades than Gordon, had a chance at being accepted into a good university. Scott’s parents were very successful executives and he knew they were grooming Scott for a similar path. Was Scott’s uncaring attitude rebellion against his parents? That was Gordon’s impression, but no way was he going to suggest this to Scott. That would only spell trouble.
The only way he could extract himself from this was to assist in cleaning up this latest mess, offer ways to cover their tracks, and then work on providing alibis for himself for the nights they kidnapped the two homeless people and John.
As Gordon finished loading the dishwasher he felt confident he could cover all of his tracks. He could also provide an excuse for not being able to participate in further trips into the bigger cities for future zombie procurement. He could take off for the Jersey shore to spend time with his grandparents, say that his parents had made him go and he couldn’t really get out of it. He friends believe that.
But there was the lingering problem of Zuck’s woods and the spell.
H
e had to break it somehow.
Scott broke his silent reverie by entering the kitchen bearing an empty garbage can. “Ready to take a look in the guest house to see what kind of work we have cut out for us?”
“The sooner the better,” Gordon answered. He closed and locked the dishwasher, turned it on.
Scott set the empty garbage can down and filled it with a new plastic lining. Steve and Dave had finished their respective tasks and were huddled near the rear sliding doors that led to the back yard. Gordon walked over to join them, already thinking of what he had to do next.
Talk to Count Gaines. Find out if there was a spell that would counter the one he’d cast in the woods.
Of course, that would mean confiding to Gaines.
Could he trust Tim Gaines?
He had to. If Gordon wanted to pry himself out of this mess, he had to extend a modicum of trust to Tim. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell Gaines everything, maybe he could —
He debated this in his mind as he walked outside and headed toward the guest house with the guys. Tim Gaines was smart. He’d figure out what had happened. He would try to use this information and take it to the police.
But would they believe him?
Gordon didn’t think they would. The new Dean of the school, Jim Simmons, didn’t trust Gaines. The physical evidence of the grave robbery pointed to Gaines. And while it was largely unspoken, local perception of Gaines wasn’t very favorable. Everything he did was against the status quo, from his reading material to his taste in music, to his attitude. That perception was deep-seated, had settled firmly in the consciousness of pretty much everybody in town. It wouldn’t take much to plant further seeds of doubt in the public perception of Gaines and his new friends. All it required was digging some dirt on Al and George. Al would be easy. The guy had skated on the edge of being an outsider ever since the eighth grade, he hung out with Matt and Chelsea, and his parents used to be hippies or something like that. He’d have to do some digging on George, but he knew he could do it. He used to live in Dauphin County. An Internet search would probably reveal info on him. He could find some of George’s former classmates on MySpace or something, find out what he was like, then twist the feedback he received to dovetail with what was happening now.
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