by Wood, Rick
That Donny could talk for England.
He’d learnt his whole life story. From the moment his family abandoned him (who could blame them), to the moment the government reluctantly employed him. In all honesty, it sounded like Donny was the last available option. He spent more time on his zombie shoot ’em up games than he did facing the reality of what the world had become.
The naiveté in which Donny spoke with was like that of a child. It was as if he wasn’t able to face the truth.
Then again, what was the truth?
That the world had gone to shit?
That it was never, ever going to be back again?
In which case, who was Gus to talk?
He planned to kill himself at the first moment that he lost the responsibility of finding this girl. If there was anyone who didn’t want to face the stark realities of life, surely it was him.
In a way, Gus envied Donny’s innocence. To be able to stay so blissfully unaware was a luxury he should crave.
He zipped up his flies and tightened his belt.
He turned, trudging through the narrow path between the trees. As he reached the opening, he paused. Something was wrong.
It was too… quiet.
Gus took cover behind a tree and withdrew his gun, gripping it tightly, removing the safety and itching his finger over the trigger.
The car was there. But the other two were not.
A clumsy shuffle battered a few leaves.
Gus grew alert, turning his wide eyes back and forth, trying to find the source of the sound.
“Gus!” came a forceful whisper.
His eyes darted in the direction of the voice.
“Gus, here!” it came again.
Gus instinctively turned toward the car. He spotted them. Hiding.
Donny. Sadie. Huddled together beneath the vehicle, taking as little space as they could, and staring wide-eyed at Gus.
“What are you–” Gus went to ask, but immediately fell silent as his proceeding question was answered.
“What the fuck kinda shit car is this?” came a slurred delinquent voice. A bloke, who must have been in his early twenties, appeared from behind the car. He lifted the hood of the car and peered inside.
The first thing Gus did was scan this man for weapons. A machine gun was swept over his back, two handguns strapped to his belt, and a machete tucked inside the back of his trousers. Gus peered at the gun and noticed that the safety was off.
Whoever this kid was, he was a fool. To have the safety kept off whilst carrying a gun was reckless. Gus concluded that the lad was inexperienced, and would be unlikely to know what to do with these weapons should he be forced to use them.
This was something Gus could play to his advantage.
He placed his gun away and took out a large hunter’s knife with a curved blade from the side of his shin. Bullets would attract the infected, and Gus was fairly sure this person would not be competent enough to present his cannon in time.
Just as Gus readied himself, another voice became clear, and he stalled.
“Look at this!”
A man appeared, much older, possibly a dad or an uncle of the other. The man dumped Gus’s bag of weapons on the floor beside the younger man’s feet.
“We got ourselves a hell of a find!”
The bloody pricks!
Gus did not like people messing with his weapons.
This man held a gun in his right hand, with his left hand beneath it to steady any kickback. This man knew how to hold a gun. Which meant he was the one Gus would have to kill first.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he charged out from behind the bush.
“Hey!” the older man shouted with fierce aggression. As he lifted his hands to take aim with his gun, Gus sliced his through the man’s wrist. Taking the man’s momentary lapse in pain as his opportunity, he stuck the knife into the man’s gut and twisted it.
The younger man leapt forward, quickly taking the gun from his waist. Gus sliced his knife across the man’s throat and he fell to the floor, grabbing hold of his neck as blood seeped through the cracks of his fingers.
“Dad!” he cried out before his voice went.
Gus turned back to the father, who had feebly raised the gun from the floor. Gus dropped to his knees and plunged his hand into the side of the man’s throat, just as the wretched bloke fired his gun into the sky.
The sound of them suffocating hung in the air, along with the wings of a flock of birds battering away from a nearby tree in response to the reverberations of the gunshot.
Gus remained perfectly still. Waiting. Listening. There could be more people.
He heard nothing.
Keeping his eyes and ears alert, he reached under the car and helped Sadie out.
Donny crawled out on his own. As he did, Gus placed a gun in his hand.
“Stand here,” Gus demanded. “Shoot anything or anyone that approaches.”
Gus opened the door and guided Sadie into the car.
He turned and walked toward the wooded area, his knife readied.
“Where are you going?” Donny asked, his voice shaking.
“To check there aren’t anymore. Keep that gun up.”
Gus looked around for items, a sign of the two men hunting, or being part of a group. He checked for rustles in the leaves, for the sound of feet pattering against the floor, or for multiple tracks on the ground.
Nothing.
Just silence.
Then groans.
Getting closer.
The smell of rotting meat.
Wherever these guys had come from, they had been on their own.
The groans grew louder.
They were about to have company.
“Gus!” Donny cried out.
Gus turned around and immediately came face-to-zombified-face with the man he had just killed. The man’s eyes were yellow and vacant, and his blood was still trickling down his top. Gus jumped, backing away, angry with himself; how could he not have the foresight not to stab him in the head and make sure he didn’t come back as the living undead?
Gus fell to the floor and the zombie mounted him. He pushed its heavy throat away with as much strength as he could muster, turning his face away from the blood rolling off the man’s chin.
“Shoot it!” Gus hastily instructed Donny.
Behind the man’s dead face, Gus could see the gun rattling in Donny’s hands. He’d gone red, tears were trickling down his cheek, his knees were buckling.
The man’s saliva dripped onto Gus’ forehead in a large gunk.
Gus needed to wipe it off before it seeped into his eyes. If it got inside of him at all, he was a goner.
But he couldn’t.
The undead assailant was too strong. His teeth were getting closer. Gus couldn’t hold it off.
“For fuck’s sake, Donny!”
Gus could no longer see Donny behind the man’s head. The bloody corpse was inches away, getting closer with every beating second.
“Donny! Fucking shoot it!”
But Donny didn’t.
A machete abruptly sunk through the zombie’s head, and it fell limp. Gus threw it off him, to see Sadie standing above him, holding the dead son’s machete.
Gus remained still. Panting. Staring up at his saviour. Blinking blood out of his eyes.
In an instant, he was filled with fiery rage.
He leapt to his feet, charged toward Donny, and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He shoved Donny against the side of the car, placing his thick fingers around his throat and squeezing as he glared into his tear-struck eyes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gus roared.
“S – s – sorry!”
“Sorry? All you needed to do was fucking shoot it!”
“I know, I’m sorry!”
Gus felt Sadie tugging on his arm. He reluctantly let Donny go.
Donny fell to the floor, grabbing his neck, rubbing a red mark with his hand.
&nbs
p; “You’ve never killed one before.”
“No!”
“Then that was the time to start!”
“I know, I’m so sorry.”
“I do not care if you are sorry! I could have been killed!”
“I am sorry!”
“You can’t fight, you can’t run, you can’t do anything. What is the use of you? What is the point? How do you expect to survive in this world?”
Donny remained silent.
Gus willed his panting to calm, but it didn’t. He remained just as enraged, just as ready to beat the hell out of the kid and rip him to shreds.
“Get in the car; more infected will be coming,” Gus commanded, shaking his head. “Or don’t. Stay here. Like I give a shit.”
Gus threw the bag of weapons back into the boot, opened the door and got in, slamming it shut and turning on the ignition, wishing that the other two remained outside so he could finish the mission alone.
Alone.
Just as he liked it.
Why was he dragging them along with him anyway?
But they got back in.
Sadie stared out the window, her arms folded, a scowl imprinted on her face.
Donny watched the corpse of the father and son disappear out the window as they pulled away, gently soothing the bruise on his throat.
Gus watched the road.
No one said anything, or looked at each other, for the next few hours.
It didn’t take long until Gus noticed that he was the only one still awake, an observation that he couldn’t help but find irritating.
It was so easy for them.
They got tired, they fell asleep.
If he closed his eyes, he saw faces. Screaming faces. Faces he wished he didn’t have to watch die every night.
He resented their innocence.
He wished he could have it.
Minus Fourteen Hours
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trusting Sadie and Donny to keep watch was a difficult decision, but Gus couldn’t have kept driving. His tiredness was causing him to veer across the road, and for their safety’s sake, he needed to rest.
Sadie was a talented fighter, and Donny… well, he had eyes. Perhaps between the two of them they could make a half-competent pair.
Either way, if he kept driving, he was more likely to die from falling asleep at the wheel than he was being eaten by a zombie the two of them didn’t notice – probably.
And he wasn’t about to let Donny drive.
In the end, it was a welcome rest. He feared that the anxiety of relinquishing a small piece of control to the other two would keep him awake – or, failing that, the desperate cold of the outdoors would. As it turned out, as soon as his head hit the mound of leaves he had pushed together, his eyes closed and his mind drifted to a dreamless sleep. Nestling in dirt wasn’t ideal, and he missed having a bed, but he’d endured worse.
His eyes opened hours later, revealing a peaceful early morning sun that cast a mild light upon him. The clouds were sparse, and it allowed him to feel a moment of resolution. A moment of relaxing his mind into submission, until all that he felt was a light head and an empty belly.
Then the aching in his calf returned. The bullet lodged securely inside his muscle that had since repaired itself around it.
I’m still alive.
They hadn’t let some stray undead into his makeshift nature-bed.
Wanting to retain another few moments of peace, he didn’t lift his head or twitch his body, hoping that the other two wouldn’t realise he was awake. He strained his eyes to see where they were, and spotted them a few yards away, in front of the car.
Donny had a knife in his hand.
Gus filled with alarm. He lifted himself up.
Sadie stood before Donny. She demonstrated a lunge with an imaginary knife, twisting her body to help put strength behind it.
Donny imitated her, thrusting the knife into the air before him.
She’s teaching him to fight.
Gus smiled.
He couldn’t help it.
Sadie took her imaginary knife and swept it backwards, then returned it to a guarding stance.
Donny copied, though less robustly. Sadie shook her head, making a disgruntled noise, and demonstrated the move once more.
Donny tried again, this time performing the move well enough to get Sadie’s approval.
With a satisfied grin, Donny placed the knife on the bonnet of the car.
“Now punches?” Donny asked. Gus hadn’t noticed before, but Donny’s brow was wet with perspiration. His t-shirt was sticking to him and he was red in the face. It wasn’t cold, but it was far from hot – he must have built up this sweat from his exertion.
The kid was trying.
Gus leant up fully, watching with intrigue.
Sadie demonstrated a striking move, taking her hand to her side, then stepping her foot forward as she lunged her fist with it.
Donny took the stance and pathetically threw his hand forward.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Gus blurted out, before he knew what he was doing.
Donny jumped and gasped, standing suddenly stiff and still.
Gus pushed himself to his feet, groaning at a wince of pain in his leg. He hobbled forward, limping to Donny’s side.
“You’ve got to put your body behind it,” Gus told him.
He took the stance, and lunged his fist forward, twisting it as he pushed his foot forward at the same time.
“See that?” he asked. “I put my foot forward with the punch so that I can put my body behind it. Makes the impact bigger.”
Gus demonstrated again.
Donny took the stance and forced his fist forward, putting his body behind it as he took a step at the same time.
“Better,” Gus decided. “Remember, strength doesn’t come from surprise, it comes from what you’re packing behind it. I was once a scrawny lad like you, and it never stopped me.”
“Cheers, Gus,” Donny thanked, a face full of gratitude.
“You’re welcome,” Gus said and, against his better judgement, found himself placing a hand on Donny’s shoulder.
“I appreciate it,” Donny continued.
“All right.”
“You’d be a good teacher, if you can teach me, that is. I’m useless. I mean, your daughter would prob–”
Donny froze.
Sadie stared at him, wide-eyed.
Gus looked to the ground. Stationary. No movement in his body. Nothing but the pain of his nails digging into his palm.
“Gus, I am so sorry,” Donny pleaded.
“Let’s go,” Gus muttered.
“Seriously, I didn’t mean to–”
“I said let’s go!”
Donny bowed his head in frustration, annoyed at himself for his lapse in thought, whilst also slightly grateful that Gus hadn’t fed him to a zombie. He got into the car, as did Sadie.
Gus went to the boot, opening it and taking some water. He wasn’t thirsty, but he allowed himself a large gulp, taking his time to calm himself. He poured some water on his face, allowing it to sink through his hair.
They were nearly there.
Not long to have to put up with them.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Watching that group of misfits try to coexist was like watching a classic comedy show. Like a Carry-On film. James used to love Carry-On films. Or something with Chevy Chase in.
That guy knew how to act, and how to act funny.
But those three…
One minute the big man was asleep, whilst some little rat-girl was teaching the thin, scrawny pipsqueak how to throw a half-hearted punch. Then the big man hobbled over, throwing a hearty attempt at a punch – then shouted at the scrawny fellow, threw a paddy, and stormed into the car.
Honestly, James thought he’d never get another comedy show, not since the zombie apocalypse hit.
But this.
Oh, man.
From the place he had perched upon
the hilltop, he could not help but bawl with laughter.
“Why, whatever are you laughing at, my darling?” came the cheery voice of Trisha, his wife.
“Oh, you must come and see this utter buffoon. It is rather humorous.”
With a happy smile that a doting wife would give to her loving husband, she joyfully strode to his side, hooking her arm in his.
“That large fellow, you see him?” James pointed at the large man.
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, he just woke up from a most aggravated sleep. I am to assume the other two were supposed to be keeping watch.”
Trisha chuckled. “Keeping watch? They look incompetent!”
“I know!”
They both lifted their heads backwards and guffawed with laughter in perfect synchronisation.
“Well,” James continued, “he just showed the thinner, nerdy-looking fellow how to throw a punch. And boy, did he look silly. It was terrible!”
“Oh gosh, I’m sad I missed it.” Still, she hollered at the thought.
They chuckled heartily, then leant in, placing their foreheads against each other’s. Their doting eyes met, and their lips pushed together for a loving kiss.
“Oh,” James suddenly thought, “we must tell Stacey!”
“Oh yes, we must.”
“Stacey!”
From around the corner, their young daughter appeared. She skipped heartily toward them, her perfectly symmetrical pig tails flapping in the wind. She stopped and neatly patted down her frilly, flowery skirt, smiling a sweet smile between her perfectly unblemished, rosy cheeks.
“Take a look at this group of fools,” James instructed, pointing at the trio huffing their way into their car. The bigger man was pouring water over his grimace.
“What about them, Daddy?”
“Oh, my child, you missed it. They were a most delightfully hilarious bunch.”
“Whatever did they do?”
“The thin, messy one tried throwing a punch, then the big one got annoyed.” He saw that Stacey didn’t understand the hilarity. “Pah! You had to be there.”
“What do you have there?” Trisha asked, pointing at her daughter’s hands.