First Zombie

by Fisher, Sean Thomas

  Jesse wrinkled her nose at Finn. “Are you’re calling from a truck stop bathroom?”

  “Mom!” Miranda said, finally finding her voice. “Behind you!”

  Her mom turned around and screamed bloody murder, violently jerking the phone around.

  Miranda’s dad growled and grabbed her by the head, taking a bite out her face. Pulling back, abrupt laughter broke the tension tightening Finn’s jaw muscles.

  Jesse pushed a hand through the air at her husband. “Good heavens, Ed, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

  Ed’s triumphant laughter morphed into a bout of coughing. Leaning over the back of the recliner, he took a deep breath and draped his arms around his wife’s neck like a cardigan. “Hi honey bunny,” he smiled into the phone, coughing some more into a fist. “How are you tonight?”

  Releasing a pent-up breath, Miranda traded a grim look with Finn. “Dad! Are you okay?”

  “Well, my nose is stopped up like a chimney but I think I’ll survive. Just a little cold.” His bushy white eyebrows dipped beneath his crooked glasses. “Why are you in a truck stop bathroom?”

  The lights flickered, tugging at their eyes and quickening their breath.

  “Say Finn?”

  His troubled gaze fell back to the screen. “Yeah?”

  Ed pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why are you carrying a shotgun in a truck stop bathroom?”

  Zombie Lot Lizard

  Miranda widened her stance and tipped her chin down, the gun wrapped tightly in both hands. Crickets chirped in the grass and bushes around them, locusts buzzing in the trees. Lining up the shot, a breeze danced with the long, blond hair spilling down her back. “Eat shit, dirtbag,” she growled, firing a round and missing the target completely.

  “Nice form, hotstuff,” Finn said, leaning against a picnic table behind her. “Now remember, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.”

  “Got it,” she replied, finishing off the magazine and turning to face him. “How was that?”

  He studied the huge information sign she just tuned to swiss cheese. “You’re a natural born sign killer. Reload,” he said, pushing off the table. “That’s enough target practice for one day.”

  Ejecting the empty magazine, Miranda glanced at the restrooms glowing in the moonlight before slapping a new mag in. “It’s weird training to shoot something I still haven’t seen,” she said, yanking the slide back and chambering a round. She holstered the gun, eyes snagging on her husband. “What’s so funny?’ she asked, resting her hands on her hips.

  He shook his head and bit back a smile.

  She lifted her shoulders. “What?”

  “You look like Linda Hamilton from Terminator 2.”

  Shifting in her heels, she struck a pose. “Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

  “It’s a pretty hot thing.” He zipped up the ammo bag. “We might have to play the lucky T-triple-eight later tonight.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” Folding her arms across her tank top, she let her gaze drift out over a cornfield bordering the backside of the rest stop, a symphony of insects playing around them.

  Finn hung his head and stared at a pot leaf some bored kid drew on the picnic table back when a road trip wouldn’t get you killed. Back when you could go home whenever you wanted.

  “I can’t stop seeing it in my head. The look on Chad’s face…” Kicking a pine cone across the cement pad, she turned to find Finn’s eyes. “We’re never going home again, are we?”

  He opened his mouth to tell her that, one day, they would go home again. That one day, they would start that family they sometimes talked about over the holidays. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her down behind the table. “Don’t move,” he whispered, freezing in place.

  Miranda followed his tight gaze beneath the picnic table, staring at a man standing off in the distance. “What’s he doing?” she whispered back, tensing against her husband.

  Despite the adrenaline flooding his system, Finn could barely shake his head. “He’s just standing there staring out over the corn,” he replied, watching the man sway in his crooked stance. The breeze tugged on the man’s gray ponytail, carrying the smell of rot right to them. The crickets stopped chirping and the night lost all its voice.

  “Is he…?”

  “I think so.”

  Miranda frowned. “But his clothes aren’t all dirty like he just crawled out of a grave.”

  Finn shrugged. “Maybe a zombie lot lizard got him.”

  “What’s he looking at?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s some primal instinct thing,” he whispered, resisting the urge to swat at a bug crawling on his neck. “He’s probably a trucker who’s done this a thousand times at rest stops across the country.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Wait and watch. Maybe we can learn something from…” Finn’s cellphone started ringing in his pocket, drawing the dead trucker’s eyes right to them. Finn dug into his pocket and the man began limping closer. Moaning loudly, he reached for them with bloated hands. Moonlight glinted off the blood oozing from a bitemark in the side of his neck, running over the tattoo of an American flag proudly waving on his shoulder.

  The phone rang again as Finn hurriedly fished it out. “It’s my mom,” he hissed, struggling to silence the ringer.

  “Turn it off,” Miranda breathed, getting as small as she could. But it was too late for that, their cover already blown. Standing, she drew her sidearm and took aim at the dead thing shambling closer, tank top rising and falling on her chest.

  Finn finally silenced the damn ringer and looked up. “Shoot it,” he told her, standing up and pocketing the cellphone.

  She glanced at him, keeping the .380 trained on the dead trucker. “Finn!”

  The man moaned and reached, trudging across the beaten down grass. Something dark ran from his mouth, spilling down a filthy wife beater stretched tightly across a swollen gut.

  “You want real practice?” Finn pumped the shotgun. “This is real practice!”

  “I can’t,” she cried, her outstretched arms beginning to shake. “You do it!”

  “No!” The dead man staggered toward the sound of Finn’s voice, steadily closing the gap between them.

  “Finn, please.”

  “He’s going to bite me if you don’t shoot him.”

  “Don’t do this.” Miranda blinked tears out, freshening up the mascara trails running down her face. “I can’t.”

  “He’s going to eat me!”

  The thing opened its mouth unnaturally wide in agreement, moaning like it was in grave pain, the smell of rot clinging to its clothing.

  “Miranda!”

  “You sonofabitch!” She fired three rounds into the trucker, making him double over.

  “Oh shit,” Finn cried, cringing hard. “You shot him right in the nuts!”

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry!”

  Snarling, the man regained his composure and, with a desperate longing in his eyes, continued advancing. His moans grew louder. Closer. Blood ran from the bullet holes in his shirt and jeans.

  “The head,” Finn shouted, bringing the shotgun into a shoulder. “Aim for the head!”

  Spreading her feet, Miranda lined the thing up in the gunsights and filled her lungs. Exhaling, she squeezed on the trigger, sending a slug through stiff’s bulbous nose and out the back of his skull. He collapsed to the ground like someone just hit his power button, legs folding up beneath him. The retort faded into the night, giving way to the sound of their ragged breathing and overworked hearts. Miranda and Finn stared down at the lifeless heap, horror stitched across their faces.

  “I did it,” she whispered, still aiming at the dead man.

  “You did,” he replied, gently pushing her gun down and kissing her softly. Drawing apart, he stared into her eyes, the summer wind blowing all around them, nothing between them but the night. “I’m so proud of you,” he told her, grabbing the ammo bag and
leading her toward the parking lot on the other side of the bathrooms. “That was perfect form. I couldn’t have…” Headlights swept into view and Finn pushed his wife into the shadows of some bushes growing alongside the restrooms. A white pickup with a flashing yellow light parked next to the Bronco II. Holding their breath, they watched a man in a hi-vis safety vest get out and stroll into the restrooms, cheerfully whistling as he went.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Finn said, easing out of the shadows.

  “Shouldn’t we say something?”

  “No,” he replied, towing her behind a glowing bay of vending machines. Breathing hard, he peeked around the corner and quickly ducked back behind the small outbuilding. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda poked her head out to see a gray-haired woman limp out from the other side of the restrooms. Entering the pale orange light, they could see bone peeking through her missing nose and patches of mud covering a long, black gown running to her bare feet. Dried blood, or dirt, encircled her yawning mouth and it looked like she’d been dead for decades. There wasn’t much left of her and the fact that she was still walking blew Finn’s mind. Whatever caused these things to rise from the dead, was dark and powerful, begging him to wonder what chance they had against it. Holding her skeletal arms out, she shuffled her bony feet closer, moaning and reaching for something only she could see. Long fingernails curled from her fingers, anxious for purchase. She made a sudden turn toward the restrooms and bounced off the front doors like a June bug. Wavering groans oozed from her split lips as she tried walking through the glass.

  “Jesus,” Finn whispered, handing Miranda the ammo bag and gripping the shotgun in both hands.

  “She looks like she just literally crawled out of the grave.”

  “There must be an old cemetery around here.”

  Miranda wiped sweat from her upper lip. “How can they dig through a sealed coffin and then a concrete burial vault?”

  He shrugged, chest heaving beneath his shirt. “The same way they came back to life, through some kind of dark magic. Maybe a meteor hit somewhere in the state or toxic rain. I don’t know, but it’s happening.”

  “What should we do?”

  He glanced at the Bronco II, wheels spinning in his mind. “Make a run for it.”

  “We can’t just leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’ll kill him.”

  “Mac said don’t be a hero. Heroes die.”

  “Finn, come on…”

  “We can’t save everyone we come across, Miranda, and if we try, we will die.” He looked her right in the eye, blood pumping through his veins. “Now, run,” he said, creeping out from behind the vending machines and bolting for the truck.

  Miranda followed and when they slammed their car doors shut at the same time, the woman in black turned to face them. She staggered closer with an old locket dangling from her neck, most of the skin missing from her face and feet. The worker guy exited the men’s room and stopped suddenly behind the glass. The woman snapped her head around to him and limped closer. Long yellow toenails scraped against the cement. Tangled gray hair ran down the back of her soiled gown. Pressing up against the drinking fountains, the man stared in horror at his new world, the neon green vest heaving on his chest. The dead woman moaned and clawed at the doors, leaving bloody smear marks running down the glass.

  “Finn,” Miranda said under her breath, watching the dead thing try to chew through the door.

  Finn started the truck and shifted into reverse, pressing on the gas pedal and cranking the wheel to the right. The vehicle lurched backwards, tires screeching to a stop when he hit the brakes.

  Miranda stared out her side window. “Finn, he’ll never get out alive!”

  Breathing hard, Finn watched the man cross the small room and press up against a map of the state of Iowa. The guy’s wide eyes locked in on the Bronco II and he began waving his hands over his head like a shipwrecked survivor stranded on a deserted island. Turning the headlights on, Finn jammed it in drive and twisted the wheel to the left, pressing on the accelerator and jetting away. He curled his lips into a sneer, strangling the steering wheel and giving it more gas.

  “Finn!”

  Slamming on the brakes, the car skidded to a stop, making their heads snap forward. He stared at the entrance ramp running off into the distance, indecision tightening his gut. “Shit!” he hissed, backing up and screeching to another abrupt stop. Putting it in park, he opened his door and hopped out.

  “Be careful,” Miranda yelled, rolling her window down and pointing her gun at the woman in black.

  Finn went around the back of the car, glowing red in the taillights. Humidity clung to his skin and sweat ran down his back. The corpse gave up on eating the restroom and shuffled her skeletal frame toward him, reaching as she went. The locket bounced against her emaciated chest, toenails breaking off against the cement. Pulling his sidearm from the paddle-holster, Finn took aim and waited for her to clear the restrooms. The last thing he wanted to do was accidently shoot the poor guy inside. The old lady dragged closer, moaning and reaching, her ghastly face glowing in the taillights as she came around the back of the truck.

  Finn walked backwards, pulling her with him on an invisible string. The closer she got, the faster his pulse raced. It was impossible. She looked like one of those animated Halloween decorations waiting to jump out at you on the front porch. But this one wasn’t plugged in to the wall. There were no spooky sound effects and glowing eyes. Just a grinding, moaning, wrenching bag of bones that refused to die. His finger curled around the trigger, heart pumping blood too fast through his veins. White spots danced in his vision and when the woman cleared the back of the vehicle, he yanked on the trigger and hit her in the shoulder. She jerked to the side and nearly fell over but, stubbornly, kept coming. She reached for him, mouth opening and closing, fingernails thick and yellow. Blowing out a steady breath, Finn lined up her missing nose in the gunsights and squeezed off another round. Her head snapped backwards and her body followed, crumpling to the ground. Keeping the gun aimed at her, he looked up to find his wife’s worried face staring back through the window.

  She waved him inside the vehicle and a squeak rang out when the utility worker opened the restroom door. Cautiously exiting the building, the guy crept closer on reluctant legs, staring dumbfoundedly at the dead lady lying in a heap. “What the hell is that?” he panted, looking up at Finn for an explanation.

  Finn holstered the nine-millimeter. “A plague,” he replied, turning for Mac’s truck. “Get somewhere safe and stay by a radio.”

  “Why?” He pulled off a dirty cap and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What’s going on?”

  Finn opened the car door and turned back to face him. “The dead are rising from their graves in search of human flesh.”

  The man’s jaw dropped with his shoulders. “What!”

  Another squeak rang out, this time from one of the two semis parked behind them. A middle-aged man poked a bald head out the cab and tumbled down the short flight of steps, breaking his front teeth off against the pavement. He struggled to his worn sneakers and staggered toward them, moaning, bleeding, reaching.

  Finn returned his attention to the guy in the green vest. “Good luck, man. I hope you make it.” Climbing in, he locked the doors and hit the gas, watching the utility worker stare after them for a few nonplussed seconds before scrambling back to his pickup.

  Miranda took Finn’s hand and held it against her cheek. “Thank you.”

  Glancing at the bald-headed zombie reaching for the Bronco II, Finn got back on the interstate and set the cruise control. The pickup’s headlights followed them for several miles before taking an exit with a brightly lit gas station and a McDonald’s sitting at the end of the ramp. Peeling his fingers from the wheel, Finn breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought he was going to follow us the whole way there.”

  “After what he just saw, I wouldn’t blame him,” Miranda said
, scrolling through Facebook. “I am never getting out of the car again.”

  He glanced over at her, an ocean of moonlit cornfields stretching as far as the eye can see in the background. “Any news?”

  “Nothing!” She looked up from the phone. “Can you believe that? Not a single story anywhere!”

  “With all the cellphones out there, it must only be happening here. Otherwise, there’d be videos all over the place.”

  “And no one is answering their phone either! I tried calling Amanda, Kaitlyn, and even my boss. They all go straight to voicemail.” A water bottle rolled out from under the passenger seat and Miranda grabbed it. “What did your mom want anyway,” she said, unscrewing the cap and passing him the bottle.

  “No idea.” He took a long drink and handed it back.

  Miranda drank greedily, swallowing with a sigh. “I hope they’re okay,” she panted, wiping water from her chin.

  Finn pressed his lips together to prevent giving voice to his inner thoughts. It was counterproductive to moving forward and that’s where they needed to direct their attention. The near future. “Either way, make sure our ringers are turned off. My mom almost got us killed back there!”

  His cellphone lit up in the cupholder, vibrating against the plastic. He scooped it up and studied the screen.

  “Your mom again?” Miranda asked, taking another drink.

  He shook his head. “It’s some weird number.”

  “Well, answer it,” she told him, screwing the cap back on. “Maybe it’s Mac calling from a different phone.”

  He swiped at the screen and hit the speaker button. “Hello?”

  “Yes, this is Kumara Bhandari from First Source Solutions; I hope you are well today, sir,” a man with an Indian accent droned on in a sedated sentence, a multitude of conversations punctuating the background. “The reason I’m calling today is to offer you a special limited time rate on health insurance for you and your entire family. It’s important to take care of the ones we love the most by ensuring…”

  Holding the phone out, Finn mouthed the words what the hell as the guy jabbered on in the background. “Hey Kumara, you’re a little late, buddy,” Finn interrupted. “I’ve almost died twice today already, but thanks for wasting my battery.” He hung up and slipped the phone back in the cupholder. “Even in the goddamn zompac, those bastards are still going strong.”