“We’re almost there,” Finn replied, stepping harder on the gas pedal.
“Almost where?”
“A trailer a few miles down the road,” Miranda told him, rolling up her window and stopping the wind.
“Oh yeah? I wonder if I know them.”
“MacMillan,” Finn told him, watching Miranda pull up her GPS.
“Hmm, don’t think I do.” Tyler rested an arm along the backseat. “I like the Bronco II,” he said, inspecting the back end. “This belong to your sister or something?”
“Not exactly.”
He leaned forward, stopping his face between their seats. “Hey, were you guys actually shoe shopping back there?”
Finn and Miranda gave him the abbreviated version of their story and Tyler furrowed his brow in confusion.
“Hang on,” he said, looking between them. “You killed the first zombie?”
Finn shrugged. “Apparently.”
“And the cops arrested you for manslaughter, but then gave you weapons and a vehicle when other zombies started popping up across town, thus validating your story?”
“Pretty much.” Miranda flashed him a tightlipped smile. “We’re lucky to be alive. The couple we were supposed to meet for dinner tonight…” She turned around and fought off more tears.
“Damn y’all, that’s messed up. I’m sorry to hear it.” Tyler leaned back in the seat and blew out a longwinded breath. “The worst part is, we’re not out of the woods yet.”
Finn shifted in the seat. “I know.”
“Dang, I’m havin the worst run of luck!” Tyler stopped to shake his head. “I lost my construction job last week and three days later my girlfriend dumped me. I had to move back in with my mom and now she’s dead along with my dog.”
“Yeah, you said that already.”
Miranda gave Finn a warning look. “I’m sorry, Tyler.”
He fanned a hand through the air at her. “Jessica was a real you know what anyway,” he said, stroking his beard. “I should’ve known she wasn’t the one when she said she didn’t like my singing.” He grunted his amusement. “I’m auditioning for American Idol next month.”
“American Idol?” Finn white-knuckled the wheel and pressed on the gas. “You think there’s going to be an American Idol next month? We’ll be lucky if there’s food next month, Jethro.”
“Hey man, why you so salty? I’m just trying to make conversation.”
Finn caught another look from Miranda and hung his head. “I’m sorry, I’m just having a really bad day.”
Tyler slowly nodded his head. “I hear ya, man. I guess we all are.”
“In two hundred feet, take the next right,” the GPS interrupted, stirring Finn’s insides into a swarm of buzzing nerves. They were almost there and – now that they were – this seemed like a bad idea. Back at the police station, amidst the fog of war, it seemed like the perfect answer. Now, here in the dark, it felt risky and unsure. At the same time, he had to remind himself, Mac not only got him off the hook after he shot some random dead guy in his backyard, but she also gave them everything they needed to escape town. They had no reason not to trust her.
Finn slowed the truck down and scanned the soybean fields running off into the distance on both sides of the road, face twisting in the dashboard glow. A doublewide trailer appeared on the right, partially hidden by a grouping of tall pines and lit by a single pole light. Killing the headlights, he turned down a long gravel driveway and rolled closer. Rocks popped beneath the tires and his skin crawled with a sudden realization. He was covered in dark slime and looked eerily like a zombie, especially in the dark. Most countryfolk housed a small arsenal of weapons for game hunting, target practice, and potential Red Dawn scenarios and Finn suddenly had a new bullseye on his back.
“Man, you sure about this, Finley?”
“It’s just Finn,” he corrected Tyler, parking in the circle driveway and examining the long, metal trailer sitting before them. The only home around for miles, pretty flowers bordered the wraparound porch while a rusty clothesline sat off to the left – a forgotten bedsheet blowing in the wind. The lights were on inside but he couldn’t see any signs of movement. “And no, I’m not sure about this.” He pulled a visor down and a small light came on, illuminating his gory face. “Are there any napkins in the glovebox?”
Miranda opened it, bringing the light on inside. “There’s only one.”
“Of course, there is,” he grumbled, wetting it with some water.
Leaning forward, Tyler scrunched his nose up. “What’re you doing?” he whispered.
“Cleaning my face.”
“Why?”
“So they don’t think I’m a zombie and shoot me.”
“Oh, good plan, man.”
“Try calling Mac,” Miranda suggested, the .380 already wrapped tightly in her hand.
Using his shirttails to clean the rest of his face, Finn grabbed his phone and located the number Officer MacMillan entered into it. He put it on speaker and listened to it ring. And ring.
“I’m sorry, the voice mailbox you are calling is currently full,” a robotized voice informed them. “Please try back later.”
Finn hung up and exhaled a solemn breath. “She must be flooded with calls.” He looked over at his wife. “Okay, you stay right with me and be ready for anything,” he told her, twisting around and looking at Tyler in the back. “Make sure you aim for the head. No mistakes and no hesitation.”
Tyler pulled his hat down. “Ten-four, boss,” he said, ensuring a massive fifty-caliber round was chambered in the Desert Eagle.
Opening their car doors, they got out and quietly shut them, extinguishing the dome lights inside. It would take a minute for their night vision to settle in but they didn’t have a minute to wait. Drawing the Glock from his hip, his eyes slowly tracked across the property, stopping on a blue circle of light hovering just outside the front door. Finn and Miranda had the same Ring Video Doorbell on their house and he wondered if Mac’s parents were watching them right now. Scanning the windows, Finn gripped the nine-millimeter in both hands and crept into the outer reaches of the pole light. The smell of cow manure floated in the sultry air. Rocks crunched beneath their feet. The bedsheet flapped in the wind, repeatedly tugging at their attention.
Gasping, Tyler jerked his handgun around to the side of the trailer, where the light turned the person limping closer into a jerky silhouette.
“Hold your fire,” Finn murmured, taking dead aim at the tall, lanky shadow ambling closer. It hobbled up and down, feet dragging across the gravel, coughing and choking.
Aiming her gun at it, Miranda spread her new shoes and glanced at Finn. “Shoot it?”
“Wait,” he whispered, curling a finger around the cool trigger and lining the shape up in the gunsights.
“Oh, holy shit.” Tyler nervously danced from foot to foot. “These things are everywhere, man. We’re screwed.”
“Just hold your shot.”
Tyler used a shoulder to mop sweat from his brow, gun trembling in his outstretched hands.
Stumbling from the shadows, an old man staggered into view, dragging a leg through the gravel driveway and coughing into a fist. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” the tall man said, giving them a quick wave. “Don’t worry, I’m not one of those dead things. Not yet anyway. Just an old man with a bad hip and allergies!” He laughed a little and limped closer, a Remington twelve-gauge propped against a shoulder. Stopping in front of them, he smoothed his white hair and spread a toothy smile. “Bailey said you’d be coming.” His eyes hitched on Finn’s bloody shirt, the smile stalling on his lips. “Are you okay, son?”
“We’re fine.” Finn holstered his gun. “Who’s Bailey?”
“My daughter,” he answered, hanging a thumb from a pair of denim overalls. “I assume you’re the one who killed the first zombie?”
Shutting his mouth, Finn replied with a tight nod.
“Yeah well, I guess we’ll all have a first zo
mbie of our own soon enough.”
“Mac gave us this,” he said, handing him Mac’s diamond engagement ring.
He stared at it in the palm of his hand, an odd look gripping his eyes. “Hell of a thing, Finn,” he said, wrapping the ring in a fist. “Going from staring a murder charge dead in the eye, to running for your life.” He pocketed the ring and stuck out a hand. “Clark MacMillan, glad y’all made it safe and sound.”
Finn shook his hand and glanced behind him to the road running out front, the Famous Footwear pushing through his thoughts.
Clark followed his glance and nodded toward the interstate. “How far away are they?”
He sighed. “Eight miles.”
Nodding, he wiped his brow. “It’s spreading then.”
“Seems like it.” Finn stopped to wonder how long until the dead reached the trailer. Eight miles wasn’t nearly enough and it left him visibly ill-at-ease.
“Well, with any luck they won’t make it this far,” Clark said, seeking to extinguish his worry. “Or even come this direction.”
“Anything on the news yet?” Miranda asked, holstering the small sidearm.
“Not yet, if ya can believe that,” Clark chuckled, scratching his head. “Bailey said they’ll try to cover it up for as long as possible but it’s only a matter of time before people start catching the dead on video.” His silver eyebrows went up, lips pulling back to reveal his Chiclet teeth. “That’s when the real fun begins.”
Tyler grunted and slipped his cannon into the small of his back. “It already has,” he panted, pulling his flannel cut-off down over the weapon. “Those things just overtook my mom’s house a few miles back; I barely made it out alive.”
The old man’s gray eyes thinned and a heavy silence swamped the air. “I’m sorry to hear it, son, but I’m glad you’re here. To be honest, I don’t mind the company one bit,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the doublewide. “Well, come on inside. April has some stew on the stove and cold beer in the fridge.”
Tyler’s face brightened. “Thank you, sir!”
He stopped and turned at the front steps. “My father was sir, I’m Clark.”
Tyler stuck out a big hand. “Tyler Bennington, pleased to meet you, Clark.”
Clark gave him a firm shake before turning back to the circle drive and putting a hand to the side of his mouth. “Champ!” he called out, listening to the sound of his voice carry across the field. “Damn dog,” he grumbled, going up the porch steps and leading them inside where the smell of beef stew and baked bread waited to greet them. “April,” Clark hollered out, dropping into a worn recliner with a sigh ruffling his lips. Leaning the shotgun against a side table, he motioned for the others to sit down. “Make yourselves comfortable, she’ll be right in.”
The three sat on the edge of the couch, twisting their fingers and taking in the tidy trailer. Lightly stained oak and worn brass fixtures set off the living room packed with oversized furniture and hand carved trinkets. Stuffed pheasants and turkeys adorned the walls, watching Finn’s every move while a fish tank bubbled softly over in the corner.
“You still have cable?” Tyler asked, staring incredulously at the Cubs game in late innings on the flat screen.
Clark sneezed and snatched a tissue from the box next to him. “Cable, internet, power, all good to go,” he said, blowing his nose.
“That is so crazy,” Miranda said, crossing her legs.
“Oh, I know! It’s hard to believe what Bailey told us,” April said, entering the room with a tray of snacks. “From here, you’d never even know anything had happened.” Her blue eyes snagged on Finn’s bloody clothing, melting the friendly smile on her lips. “But I guess it’s true, isn’t it?”
Miranda gave her a faint nod. “It is.”
Sighing, she set a tray of cheese and crackers on the coffee table and straightened up to look them over, refreshing her country smile which was just as white as her shoulder length hair. “Well, I’m glad you made it here okay.” A forlorn sigh slipped past her red-painted lips, eyes drifting out a bay window.
“Don’t worry, Bailey knows what she’s doing, Mama.” Clark winked at Finn. “She’s a very willful girl,” he said, tipping back a tallboy of Coors Light.
“I know, Clark, but…” April dismissed the thought with a quick shake of the head and rolled up the sleeves on a denim shirt. Her pants matched her snow-white hair, setting off the sapphire glow in her eyes. “I’ll getcha something to drink,” she decided, turning for the kitchen and stopping short. “Did you find Champ?”
“Not yet, he’s probably chasing down a raccoon,” Clark replied, letting a black cat jump up into his lap. “He’ll be back soon enough.”
“I hope so,” she replied, toying with the rock on her finger and then disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Damn dog,” Clark grunted. “Right when ya need him the most, he runs off to join the circus.”
Tyler hung his head, discreetly brushing at a teardrop stealing over his cheek.
Lowering the beer can, Clark frowned at him. “I say something wrong?”
“He just lost his mother and dog,” Miranda explained, patting Tyler’s knee. “Buster, right?”
He nodded, shaking another teardrop loose. “Sweetest little dog ya ever saw.”
Clark blew out a slow breath and sank into the chair. “I’m sorry, Tyler.” Looking down, he stroked the cat purring in his lap, searching for comforting words and coming up short. “That’s a horrible thing.”
“Thank you, Clark, and please, just call me Red.”
Tipping the can back and draining the rest of it in a single chug. “You’ll be safe here. And when Bailey comes, she’ll know what to do.”
“Have you talked to her recently?” Finn asked, glancing at his wife. “We tried calling but got her voicemail.”
“Same here,” he reported, setting the empty can on the side table and accidentally bumping the shotgun. The Remington started sliding off to the side but he caught it before it could fall to the worn carpeting and discharge a round of buckshot into the kitchen. “Haven’t talked to her since she called a couple hours ago now.” Gently, he laid the weapon on the floor next to the chair. “But she did sound worried. She tried hiding it but a father can always tell.”
“I’m sure she’s busy helping people,” Miranda said, swinging a black running shoe back and forth over a knee.
“Well, ya know what they say…no news is good news.” Clark tried to smile and took a drink from the empty can. Grimacing, he set it back down.
Tyler’s eyes lit up when April delivered some cold cans of beer and bottled water. “We’ve also got wine, coffee, and soda pop as well.”
“This is great,” Miranda said, cracking open a bottle of water. “Thank you.”
“The bathroom’s down the hall,” April said, glancing at Finn and his filthy shirt. “I’ll dish up some stew then. Have to keep your energy up now more than ever before.”
Everyone nodded and, after cleaning up, filed into the dining room to fill their bellies with delicious hot stew and freshly baked bread. For the most part, they ate in silence, too mentally and physically drained to discuss their new truth because talking about it made it real. No one wanted to relive it when they could eat instead. Finn could tell Clark wanted to ask more questions but held off to avoid frightening his wife. Spoons scraped against bowls. An owl called out from a nearby tree. Something bumped against the roof and everyone stopped chewing to look up.
“Just a squirrel,” Clarke grinned, stuffing another spoonful of stew into his mouth.
To say they were jumpy was an understatement, and this was just the beginning of the end. After dinner, Tyler pulled his acoustic guitar out and sat on the edge of the couch. He strummed a couple chords, tightening some strings and clearing his throat. Finn wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her close on the loveseat across the way. It was nice here. Normal. And it left him off balance. The peace and quiet, combined with the hot f
ood and cold air-conditioning, sat in sharp contrast with what he knew was coming. So tonight, he would soak it all in because this could be their last chance to enjoy something even close to resembling normalcy. Miranda smiled at him like she just read his mind and he kissed her on the lips, slipping her hand in his.
Tyler started playing something beautiful on the guitar, sinuously strumming with a stunning agility. The notes rang out with an effortless grace that lulled Finn into a false state of rapture for the first time since those cold margaritas on the back deck when the world was his for the taking. Then Tyler started singing and the mood all changed.
“Her day starts off with a coffee and ends with a wine,” he sang off tune, strumming the strings with a contradictive precision. “Takes forever to get ready so she’s never on time for anything…”
Shifting uneasily on the loveseat, Finn shared an uncomfortable look with his wife that almost made her laugh. She squeezed his knee to make him stop, biting back a smile while Clark and April nodded their heads and tapped their toes.
“Beautiful, crazy, she can’t help but amaze me,” Tyler sang out, hunched over the six string with his eyes squeezed shut. “The way that she dances, ain’t afraid to take chances. And wears her heart on her sleeve. Yeah, she’s crazy but her crazy’s beautiful to me.”
He strummed one last chord and let it fade into a heavy silence before opening his eyes. April and Clark burst into robust applause, forcing Miranda and Finn to join in as well. Tyler’s face turned beet red, the hint of a sheepish smile touching his lips. “Aww, thank you,” he said, mercifully leaning the guitar against the couch.
“That was really beautiful,” April gushed from the recliner next to her husband’s, clasping her hands together in her lap. “You have a real talent, Tyler!”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
Clark enthusiastically nodded his wholehearted agreement. “You should enter a contest and get yourself a record deal.”
First Zombie Page 7