Dead bodies began to flow in from a break in the wooden fencing. Their faces were grey with brown dried blood around their mouths and clothes. They stared at Kyle as they slowly shambled toward him. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the dead weren’t looking at him, but at a kid sitting on the ground in front of him. The fires had caught his attention before he could notice the boy.
The boy turned his head toward Kyle. It was Victor. He got up to his feet and banged on the sliding glass door.
“Let me in, dude!” he yelled.
Kyle reached for the lock and flicked it open. He tried pulling on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was as though the door was welded shut.
“Come on! Open the door,” Victor continued.
No matter how hard Kyle tried, the door wouldn’t open.
Mary and Eddie stopped a few feet behind him.
“What are you doing, Kyle? Open the door and let him in. You need to save him,” she said in an echoing, eerie voice.
“I’m fucking trying. The door won’t budge!” Kyle yelled, enraged.
The dead continued to walk toward Victor. He kicked and punched the glass door, screaming to be let in. The Existing Dead closest to him was naked, not only of clothes, but of skin as well. His half rotting stomach was split open. The dead man’s penis was fully erect. Kyle yelled as the monster wrapped its arm around Victor’s neck, putting him in a choke hold. The creature proceeded to unbuckle Victor’s belt. His pants and boxer shorts fell down to his ankles. The creature slammed Victor’s head up against the glass door and inserted its penis into him. A high pitched scream exploded out of Victor’s mouth as the monster thrust himself further into him. Victor flailed his arms, trying to escape its grip.
Kyle looked into the man’s face. It was Chet, their new companion. A large grin was plastered across his face. Victor continued to scream in a high pitched, deafening cry.
“Save him, Kyle. Wake up,” Mary said.
Kyle continued to pull on the sliding door, but it still wouldn’t open. He searched the area for anything to break the glass with. He lifted one of the chairs above his head and heaved it toward the door. It bounced off with no effect.
“Wake up, Kyle. Wake up,” Mary whispered.
Victor looked through the glass at Kyle. Tears built up in his eyes then came running down his face. “Help me, Daddy,” he said in Eddie’s voice.
Enraged, Kyle shrieked into the air like a wild medieval warrior in the heat of battle. He ran full force toward the door and braced himself for the impact. The glass door shattered into a thousand pieces as his body caved through. He felt the shards of glass scrape against his skin as they made invisible slices on his face, neck and shoulders. The entire world when black for a moment, and then Kyle’s eyes strained open.
Chapter Thirteen
The dream left Kyle with a combination of anger and fear. He didn’t know what to make of it, nor did he know if he was still dreaming. He remained on the ground with his eyes half open, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly he closed them again, but he did not fall into another deep sleep. He sensed something was wrong and he needed to fully awaken. The noises of wood cracking in the fire and rain pouring down outside were prominent in the room. But there was another noise, something that Kyle couldn’t understand.
Kyle slowly sat up, his eyes half open, and the undistinguishable noise grew louder. It was the sound of weeping. Kyle’s stomach was sore, as if he’d been doing a thousand crunches the night before. He rubbed his abdomen softly, taking in a few deep breaths while the lamenting noise continued to grow louder. He looked around the area, but was unable to see anyone.
“Victor?” Kyle muttered, disoriented. “Chet? Where … where are you guys?”
He shook off some of his fatigue and stood, nearly tripping over his own feet. He grabbed on to the nearby counter for support. Again the crying sound continued. It was coming from the other room. Kyle searched the area where he lay for his weapons. They were gone. His Winchester shotgun, the Glock and most importantly, Eddie’s robot backpack: all gone.
Kyle’s anger and fear quickly turned into worry and anxiety. He looked into the metal can that they used as a fire pit, the blaze was almost out, but orange embers still flew into the air. The crying continued.
“Victor? Where are you?” he asked in the loudest voice he could muster. There was no reply, just more weeping. Kyle started regretting taking the pill Chet had given him. His head pounded and every nerve and desire in his body was telling him to go back to sleep. He needed to do something that would completely take the weariness away and let him take control of his body again. He looked at the fire again with one eye exposed and the other struggling to open.
The orange glow sparkled in his eye. Without much thought about how this act would affect him later, he reached down with his left hand and shoved it into the inferno.
A violent shockwave of pain and heat shot through his body, instantly taking away any fatigue or soreness he had. Sweat immediately began to build up on his forehead and above his upper lip. He snapped back his head as if he were looking to the sky and, with as much force and power that it could have shaken the walls, he screamed. He yanked his hand out of the scorching ashes and yelled again, this time louder than before.
The whole experience lasted only a second, and the damage done to his hand was nothing more than a minor burn. After all, Kyle was a welder and being burned at high temperatures was part of the job.
All of Kyle’s thoughts rushed into his head and besides the pain, he was fully awake and thinking clearly. He unhooked the front door from the chain—for some reason it was no longer open—and ran outside, quickly dunking his hand into the nearest puddle he could find. Once his hand cooled, he retracted it and turned it into a fist. The calluses on his hands really helped absorbed the burn.
Kyle turned to face the entrance to the post office when he heard another faint cry.
“Victor!” he yelled, and ran through the door.
Turning right immediately after entering, Kyle entered into the front desk area. The smell of blood and feces dominated the little room. He looked around the lobby area, but no one was in sight.
“Victor! Where are you?” Kyle called out.
Kyle felt tightness in his throat and chest. He could hear Victor groaning and crying, but he couldn’t find him. Kyle jumped onto the counter so he could peer to the other side. There was no one in sight.
Where the fuck is he?
A lightning flash illuminated the room for a split second, giving Kyle enough time to see Victor’s head poking from around the corner.
“Victor!” Kyle yelled as he rolled to the other side of the counter and landed on his feet. He had forgotten about the dead postal worker they had destroyed earlier. Nearly slipping on the blood, Kyle began to make his way toward Victor.
Another flash lit up the room as he turned the corner. This time he got a better look at Victor’s condition. The boy was bent over an overturned chair with his hands bound around its legs. His face was severely bruised around the cheeks and his eyes were so puffy and swollen that Kyle didn’t think he could see.
“Holy shit,” Kyle said as he quickly began to loosen the rope tied around Victor’s mouth like a makeshift gag. “What the fuck hap …”
Kyle suddenly stopped moving. After loosening the ropes, Kyle noticed that Victor’s pants and underwear were missing. His rear-end pointed to the sky as if welcoming someone to have their way with it.
A tear ran down Kyle’s face as he quickly realized that his dream had been trying to tell him what was happening. The screams and cries for help he heard in his dreams had been real, they had to have been. The proof was in front of him. Victor lay strapped to a chair, bare-assed, with blood slowly leaking out and landing on the ground around him.
“Chet … Chet … Chet …” Victor slowly breathed as more tears began to run down his face.
Every bit of anger that Kyle had felt throughout his life was nowhere
near the amount of anger he felt at that second. For the first time in his life, Kyle saw red glaze over his vision. He finished untying Victor, and then clutched his hand into a fist as he slowly stood from his kneeling position.
“Where did Chet go?” Kyle asked, hoping that Victor had enough in him to at least guide Kyle in the right direction.
“Stole weapons, stole keys, stole truck … stole … me.” Victor breathed through tears and whimpers.
Thoughts about where Chet could have run off to were quickly racing through Kyle’s head. The most logical answer was that Chet stole their supplies and the truck so he could either make it back to his car and fix it or load his supplies into the truck and continue on his way. But this was all in the hopes that he’d been telling them the truth.
“Stay here,” Kyle ordered, slowly helping Victor off the chair and laying him, stomach-first onto the floor.
“It hurts … it really hurts,” Victor said as he motioned his arm to his rear-end.
They didn’t have any real painkillers, only a few aspirin and Ibuprofen Kyle had kept in his pocket, but those wouldn’t be too effective on pain like this. Besides, the pills had been soaked along with Kyle’s clothes and were probably completely useless by now. Kyle knew Victor was in tremendous pain. With the amount of blood and feces on the ground he could only imagine how much of a terrible experience it was for Victor. Kyle decided to do something for the kid, something that would take the pain away, at least temporarily. He knelt down to face him. Victor slowly turned his head to see Kyle. All he could see through the puffiness of his eyes was Kyle’s massive fist flying toward his face.
Kyle put so much force into the punch that it quickly, and with as little pain as possible, knocked the boy unconscious. Victor’s body fell limp. Kyle maneuvered the boy’s face to the side and elevated it to open his airways. Using the curtains that draped over openings on the walls, Kyle covered Victor, for safety and decency.
The red in his vision had not gone away, nor did he want it to. He felt the adrenaline course through his body, making his muscles more efficient for what he was about to do. He was going to find Chet and make him pay for everything. Pay for drugging him, pay for stealing from him and pay for raping a poor defenseless boy, his poor defenseless boy.
Kyle turned to face the counter and saw a pair of scissors nestled into a dark corner near the employee work station. He grabbed them by the pointed edge and tested the sharpness by rubbing his thumb against one of the blades. Not as sharp as he would have liked, but better than nothing. He put the scissors into his back pocket and jumped over the counter.
He didn’t know how long ago Chet had left, but rain was still gushing down from the heavens. His muscles began to tense up as he thought about Eddie, Mary, Susie, Angel and Victor. Then the image of the zombified version of Chet pressing Victor against the sliding glass door and raping him right in front of Kyle snapped into his head. Anger raced through him as he sprinted for the door. He turned right down the outside pathway until he reached the parking lot. He was quickly engulfed in rain, and his vision was no more than a few feet in front of him. Looking around, Kyle began sprinting up the road as quickly as he could. There was no telling how much time he had before Chet was gone forever.
He ran for what seemed like many miles but in reality, was only about one. As he reached a sign that read Post Office one mile, with an arrow pointed in the direction he came from, the rain finally began to subside. Kyle’s vision improved as the rain ceased to be a nuisance.
Kyle did notice something as he continued running; there were no other figures on the streets besides him. He saw this as a sign of luck. He wouldn’t have to deal with the Existing Dead, and could continue on his mission of finding Chet.
As he ran, the road split into two directions. Kyle stopped, trying to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure which direction he should go, but one sign did catch his gaze: it read “Las Vegas” with a pointing arrow.
Kyle took in one last gust of air and continued running in the direction of Las Vegas. He remembered that’s where Chet said he was heading before his car stopped running.
The sound of his feet smacking onto the pavement grew louder now that the rain was no longer there to muffle the noise. He began running uphill, causing his legs to tire more quickly. As his head peeked over the small hilltop, he saw a figure roughly one-hundred yards away. The form was too far out to be recognizable, but he did recognize his Toyota pick-up truck. Two cars were parked parallel to each other on the middle of the road. The person was moving items from Kyle’s truck into a small Ford Fusion.
Kyle ducked his head and ran right toward the railings. There was plenty of trees for him to move undetected closer to Chet. Kyle took the scissors out of his back pocket and slowly began to walk through the green toward the inhuman monster.
He moved quickly and quietly, trying very hard to not be seen or heard. He wanted the element of surprise to work in his favor. Not that he needed it. Chet didn’t look like he had any weapons on his body.
Kyle was finally a few yards away, and Chet still did not know that he was being stalked. The pedophile picked the robot backpack out of the truck and tossed it into his car. Kyle watched and waited for the perfect time to strike and just as if God were listening to his thoughts, the perfect time came.
From the other end of the road, four figures emerged. Their slow and jerky movements instantly told Kyle that they were Existing Dead. They were a hundred yards away, and Chet had not yet noticed them. Kyle watched as the dead slowly approached. It wasn’t until one of them moaned that Chet noticed the danger he was in.
“Ah shit,” Chet said, reaching into his car and bringing out Kyle’s Winchester. “How the fuck do you load this thing?” he asked himself, in a panic.
Chet found the shell loading compartment and then began loading it with shells from his pocket. When no more would fit, he pumped the shotgun and pointed it toward the figures.
Kyle waited until the figures were a bit closer. They were forty yards away now. He slowly crept out of his hiding spot with the pair of scissors in his hand, the piercing end pointed to the ground. Taking one footstep at a time to minimize his noise, Kyle was moving closer undetected. Chet held the shotgun with the stock on his shoulders. He stood motionless pointing the barrel at the advancing dead with his finger on the trigger, ready to fire at any moment. But before he could fire, Kyle wrapped his hand around Chet’s chin and raised it into the air. Then he put the sharp end of the scissors against the side of Chet’s neck.
“Hello,” Kyle said in a mocking tone.
“Kyle, I was just on my way to get you,” Chet said, no longer speaking in a British accent.
“Drop it,” Kyle ordered.
“But they’re coming closer. We need to take them out before they kill us.”
“I said drop it,” Kyle said, forcing the scissors a little further into his throat.
Chet didn’t protest any longer and released the weapon. The shotgun went hurling down to the ground. The sound of metal and wood hitting pavement clattered around them.
“Now, get to your knees,” Kyle ordered.
“Please, don’t …” Chet began, but was cut off by Kyle.
“Get to your fucking knees!” Kyle yelled, kicking the back of Chet’s legs and sending him crashing to his knees. He quickly lifted Chet’s chin again and put the scissors back on his skin. “Good. Now wait.”
“Wait for what?” Chet muttered, almost in tears.
“For them,” Kyle said motioning toward the four lumbering dead that were only a few yards away now.
“Please, don’t do this, there’s still enough time for you to grab the gun and take them out,” Chet said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle replied. “This is what you get, you sick fuck.”
The dead began to moan in anticipation of their meal. Kyle stared into their eyes and noticed that none of them were looking at him. Their glossy eyes were locked onto Chet, the easy prey.
“Look at them, Chet,” Kyle said. “You’re going to be one of them soon.”
“No,” Chet said as he smacked Kyle’s hand out of the way with lightning-fast speed. Kyle was not expecting Chet to get out of his grip. Chet reached for the shotgun and grabbed hold of the pistol grip. He wrapped his finger around the trigger and pointed it toward the dead. But before he could fire, Kyle lunged for him, bringing the piercing end of the scissors down on Chet’s right shoulder. Chet yelled as blood began to spray onto his clothes. Kyle knew he had hit an artery; there was too much blood around. He opened the scissors and twisted them until the handles broke, leaving the blades inside of Chet’s body.
The firearm fell to the ground again as Chet put his left hand over his wound and screeched. Kyle took a few steps away from him as the Existing Dead began to swipe for Chet. His shrieking grew louder as the first dead sank his teeth into his cheek. The remaining three piled on top of Chet and each other, biting any piece of flesh they could.
Kyle searched the ground for the Winchester, but it was nowhere in sight. He finally caught view of the firearm’s stock, poking underneath the pile of bodies in front of him. There was no way he would be able to get to it without risking getting bitten. He ran toward the truck and looked inside; his Glock had to be somewhere nearby. Searching the truck carefully, Kyle couldn’t find it.
The screams continued behind him, the noise helped steer the Existing Dead toward Chet. Kyle was glad that Chet was still putting up a fight; he wanted him alive but infected. He had more plans for the piece of shit, but if he didn’t hurry the dead would continue eating until there was nothing left of him.
Kyle ran to the Fusion and began searching the car for the Glock. He found it on the floor of the passenger side. He bent down to grab it and quickly ejected the magazine to see if there were still ten rounds loaded.
“Fuck, three,” he muttered. What the fuck did Chet shoot at?
Existing Dead Page 11