Stay Dead 2: The Dead and The Dying

by Steve Wands

  “Even dead, I ain’t too bad looking,” Ben said, leaving the room.

  Walking down the street Ben could feel where the blood had pooled in his body while he was dying. He could feel the coagulated blood sticking like honey to his innards as gravity pulled it down. His legs grew heavy and started to swell, but still he thought he felt great. The sun was warm, heating his cold flesh as he walked to the truck. He reached inside his pocket and found he still had the keys on him. He started the truck and sat in it for a moment unsure of where to go. His body filled with sensation and shortly after he knew which way to go. An internal compass, pointing him in the direction of wherever he could cause the most damage.

  “Hope you like a little CCR,” Ben said, turning on the stereo system and skipping forwarding till Fortunate Son started playing.

  Ben turned up the volume and sped down the road.

  4 WHEELS

  (back to top)

  Jon-Jon pulled over to the side of the road. His fuel gauge was teetering towards empty and he knew if he let go any longer they’d be pushing the van or leaving it by the wayside.

  “What’s the matter?” Scott called out as Jon-Jon stepped out of the truck.

  “Just about on ‘E’. You don’t have a gas can on you, do you?”

  “No. We’re getting pretty low ourselves. Looks like a few cars up ahead, maybe they gassed up before they hit the road.”

  “That’s what I was hoping. You don’t have a hose do you?”

  “I think that kid called Cups had it with him. We didn’t really have much of anything with us except our clothes and shit.”

  “You think that Abdullah-whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is has anything?”

  “He might. He was holed up with those people from the gas station. Maybe they grabbed some gas while they were there. It’s what I would’ve done.”

  “Well, I’ll go ask him. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  Abdul-Ba’ith sat idling several feet behind Scott and Judy’s nearly demolished Hybrid. He’d given himself enough room to spin the truck around had he needed to. He sat gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went pale and when Jon-Jon approached the truck he did not get out. He simply rolled the window down half way.

  Jon-Jon raised his hand out in a sort of waving gesture, hoping Abdul-Ba’ith would step out of the truck. With the glare on the windshield Jon-Jon could barely see inside.

  “Hey, uh…Abda-Bath, you wouldn’t happen to have a gas container on you, would you?”

  “My name is Abdul-Ba’ith, not Abda-Bath, John. And no, I don’t have any extra gas. We could use a refueling as well.”

  “Sorry, Abdul…ba—Can’t I just call you Abdul?”

  “Sure, but I really don’t understand what is so difficult about my name.”

  “Well, Abdul, it just doesn’t flow off my tongue, but I promise, if we live long enough to get to know each other I’ll figure it out.”

  “Don’t bother, we’ll all be dead soon,” Carrie spat.

  “Fine,” Abdul said, ignoring Carrie.

  “Do you have a hose?”

  “I honestly don’t know what’s in the back. This isn’t my truck,” Abdul-Ba’ith said, popping the latch and stepping out.

  “We should just leave them,” Carrie said.

  They walked to the back of the truck and opened the rear door. Abdul-Ba’ith moved several bags of clothes, a bloodied bat, tire-iron, crowbar, and a few gallons of water out of the way so they could check the spare-tire compartment.

  “No hose.”

  “Hey, at least we know you got a spare and a jack, and…yep, a donut under the spare. If I were you, I’d also take that other tire-iron out so it’s handy.”

  “That I will,” Abdul said, accepting a good suggestion.

  “So I guess we’ll drive up to this next section of cars and we’ll start checking them. Might have to ditch the van and go with whatever has a full tank.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” Abdul-Ba’ith said, his eyebrows seeming to stiffen at the thought.

  Jon-Jon walked back to the van and Abdul-Ba’ith hopped back in the truck to return to his statuesque pose behind the wheel. Carrie, having heard everything the two men said, still felt the need to ask what was going on. She bit her nails nervously as Abdul-Ba’ith went over it again. His tone was monotonous and though one might have found it almost soothing, Carrie just seemed to be more anxious. Abdul-Ba’ith thought about knocking her over the head with the tire-iron and kicking her out of the truck, but decided against it as the convoy started moving forward again.

  Once they pulled in close to the next section of cars almost everyone got out and armed themselves. Jon-Jon, Eddie, Joseph, and Frankie went forward without hesitation. Chung-Hee hung back near the van with Chuck and they watched behind them and to the sides. Janice stayed in the van, indifferent to everything that was going on. Dawn walked toward Alexis and the children, smoking a cigarette as if her life depended on it. Passing her was Abdul-Ba’ith and Carrie, both carrying melee weapons from the back of the truck.

  Scott and Judy climbed up on top of their Hybrid, which only increased their vantage point by a few feet, but it was still better than standing on the ground.

  “Maybe we should join them, and look for another car?”

  “I thought you liked this car?”

  “I do—did—before it got all bloody. It’s pretty gross, now, I don’t even want to touch the handle to get in anymore.”

  “How about we take it to the car wash after they find some gas?”

  “Even during the apocalypse you can still find some sarcasm. Unbelievable,” Judy said, as she rolled her eyes.

  “Believe it, babe. If it makes you feel any better, it’s not my fault. My father was a sarcastic prick--”

  “I know. It rubbed off.”

  “See anything?”

  “No. Looks good from here.”

  “Yeah, me too. Want to go shopping for a new ride?”

  “Why not? Maybe we can find a hearse?”

  “Yeah, cause that wouldn’t freak everyone else out,” Scott smiled.

  They laughed and climbed down from the car, hurrying to join the others.

  The first set of cars had been abandoned, and the area seemed clear. Looking further down the road, however, they couldn’t tell. The cars started to blur together. Maybe there was an accident up ahead, a pile up, followed by cars jamming up the open roadway. They’d know soon enough, so they returned focus to the task at hand—getting some gas, or a new set of wheels.

  Jon-Jon opened a door on the driver’s side of a Ford F-350. It was a Mechanical contractors truck—or so the logo on the side said so—and he hoped there would be something of use inside; hopefully the key to the back rack toolbox in the bed of the truck. He rummaged under the seats, under the visors, and even the glove compartment. Whoever left the truck took their keys with them. Discouraged Jon-Jon slammed the door shut.

  “No luck?” Dawn asked.

  “Nope, and with our luck, there’s a piece of hose in that box.”

  “Can you pry it open?”

  “I could try, but I know it won’t happen. An old friend of mine had one, he lost the key somehow and we tried to open it with a crowbar. We must’ve been at it for an hour before giving in a calling a locksmith over. The guy came and opened it in less time than we spent dicking around with it.”

  “No sense in crying about it. Let’s keep looking,” Scott suggested, “Someone had to of left their keys behind.”

  “I’m sure of it,” said Jon-Jon, “and I’m sure if we go too far up we’re going to find some of the people who left these cars behind, and they’re gonna want to eat us.”

  “What else is new,” said Frankie, moving on to the next car.

  They found no keys in the next one but the trunk lever worked all the same. Eddie cautiously lifted if open with the bat he held in his hands. It was full of quickly packed bags of clothes, photo albums, and bottled water. There were a few boxes of g
ranola bars, and couple of flashlights towards the back.

  “I’ll take the food and water back,” Dawn offered.

  She grabbed them and stared for a moment at the photo albums, wanting to open them, but at the same time wanting to run away from them. She felt pangs of grief just knowing that there were photographs in there at all—probably family memories of good days gone; birthday parties, holidays, picturesque walks in the park. She shoved the thought aside and made herself busy with the task at hand.

  “Kind of feels like I’m stealing.”

  “Try not to think about it.”

  Eddie had walked forward to a black Lexus with tinted windows. The doors were locked. “Damn, I really wish the fucker who owned this left the keys.”

  “Hell yeah, we’d be riding in style,” Joseph added.

  Frankie pointed out the car seat in the back, and the smiles that Eddie and Joseph wore wrinkled into frowns.

  The next car was a clunker, rust around the wheel wells, lopsided bumper, and a different color door than the rest of the vehicle. The doors were open, and the key was in the ignition. The driver must’ve wanted someone to take it.

  “Eddie, is that wood paneling on the side?”

  “Yeah it is. I bet the guy who owned this heap had a mullet too.”

  “Man, I had a mullet when I was a kid,” Jon-Jon said, looking embarrassed.

  “That’s fine, you obviously came to your senses.”

  Jon-Jon nodded approvingly and opened the door on the other side. They searched the car quickly and found very little of use. Frankie grabbed two lighters, Joseph found a small set of screwdrivers, and Eddie grabbed a backpack that had a bunch of kids stuff in it—some crayons, coloring books, Hot Wheels, and some action figures.

  Judy had gone to the next vehicle before the others had finished rummaging through the clunker. It was an SUV, dark red, with a dent in the driver’s side door. She peered through the back window. No one was inside and the back was full of luggage and some other bags. She went to open the back door but it wouldn’t budge. She went to the driver’s side and tried the door, it opened and she was able to pop the latch. She took a quick look around the interior. There was nothing of use in the front but checked the gas gauge—it was three quarters of the way full—and only a laptop in the back seat. By the time she returned to the back of the truck Scott was already searching through the luggage. Most of it was clothing, but he found a bottle of Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey, a utility knife, a pack of new toothbrushes and an unopened box of toothpaste. He held up the toothbrushes and toothpaste to show Judy and she smiled.

  “Now we can kiss each other again,” he said jokingly.

  “And just when I was getting used to the film on your teeth.”

  “That’s not even funny. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Please tell me you found keys for this one. She’s a keeper.”

  “Not yet. I gave a quick look but I don’t see them. I was hoping they’d have an extra set in the luggage.”

  “Well, not in this guys case.”

  “Then check the lady’s, and I’ll check the visor and floor mats.”

  Scott rummaged through the other cases finding a camera, a carton of cigarettes, and a spare set of keys complete with the key for the truck.

  “Score!”

  “You found it?”

  Scott shook the keys in his hand and said, “Told you I’d buy you a new car one day.”

  “Give me, I want to make sure it starts up.”

  Scott tossed the keys over to her and she hopped behind the wheel. The others gathered around while she started the truck.

  “Damn, if I’d only gotten here first,” Jon-Jon said.

  “With this kind of luck, you’ll find something soon,” Scott reassured him.

  “Shit, I hope so. I hate standing out here like this in the open. And looking inside these cars is just too fucking creepy.”

  “At least no one’s in them.”

  “I’d bet one of these cars has a deader in it.”

  5 WE’VE GOT COMPANY

  (back to top)

  Walter took Barbara aside on the porch while Jeff went inside. Walter put his arm on her shoulder and she looked away to the dead things staggering closer to them.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, in that calm, cool, collected voice he always had, “you need to stop comparing yourself to your brother. You’re both different people and years apart. You know, he wasn’t always the good man you’ve known. He was a pain in the ass just like you once.”

  “I know, it’s just…”

  “Shh, just let it go. And please don’t worry that you couldn’t hit that thing out there. I know when you’re life is on the line you won’t even be able to think about it, you’re just going to do it. You have a strength inside, and when you need it, it’ll rise up like a phoenix.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  He pulled his baby girl closer and she nuzzled under his chin.

  “Besides, it doesn’t look like any of us are going to have a choice. These…things, whatever they are, don’t want to quit. You’re going to have to take one of them down sooner or later. Let’s just hope it’s later.”

  She hugged her old man, “Love you, dad.”

  “Love you too, sweetheart. Now let’s get the hell in, these things give me the willies.”

  Jeff carefully placed his boots down on the rubber floor mat, being careful to not touch any wet spots that could’ve been blood. Walter and Barbara did the same. They all cleaned up in the kitchen using generous amounts of dish soap.

  “Kills 99.9% of bacteria,” Jeff said, “let’s hope that .1% isn’t a zombie bacteria.”

  “What was that?”

  “I was saying the soap--”

  “No, not that. That!”

  “Oh, shit. They’re banging at the door.”

  They ran to the front door. It was still locked. Walter walked up to the peephole and could see a duo of zombies banging and scraping at the door. One of them was wrapping its dead fingers around the doorknob and trying to turn it.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Let’s go to the windows,” Jeff said, turning and running.

  The windows had been boarded up, but Walter had suggested leaving a slit between some of the boards so that they could still see outside, without having to run up the second story.

  “Look! They’re drawing the attention of some of the wandering ones!”

  “This isn’t good at all,” Walter huffed.

  At that moment Laura came down the steps, the look of concern etched across her aging, yet still beautiful face, “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got company, dear.”

  “Oh,” is all she could manage, seeming to teeter on the steps. She looked as if she might loose her balance, but then she steadied herself on the railing.

  “Why don’t you just go back upstairs with the kids? Maybe you and Maria can put them to bed?”

  “They’re not tired, and if…if you’re going to be making noise, then wouldn’t that just wake them up? I think that might scare them, Walter.”

  “I think you’re right. Well then just keep them from looking out the windows… and from coming downstairs.”

  Walter turned his attention back to the window and paused a moment on the steps before returning to her grandchildren.

  “Jeff, we’re going to open the front door while it’s just the two of them and knock them the hell off the porch.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Go grab my rifle. If they somehow get in, or overpower us, you need to put them down.”

  “In the head, right?”

  “If you can manage, if not, maybe a knee, but maybe hitting them in the body will have enough kick to knock them back and give us a chance to finish the job.”

  Barbara nodded her head, and ran to get the rifle. Walter and his s
on suited up. The shovels were outside on the porch, and now needing them, Walter realized that he clearly didn’t put them in the right place.

  “Damn, the shovels are outside.”

  “It’s okay, dad, we got the baseball bats in the closet.”

  “Yeah, but the shovel would’ve been better.”

  “You can always go outside and get it.”

  “Smartass.”

  Jeff grabbed the bats and Barbara had returned with the rifle. She stood holding it barefoot in the hallway while her father and brother readied themselves to open the door.

  “Ready?”

  “Nope. Check the peephole again.”

  “I’m opening the damned thing. Get ready,” and Walter opened the door.

  Jeff slipped passed and rammed the first zombie in the chest with the bat, knocking it back and to the side. Walter followed just behind as the next zombie was stepping forward, ready to enter the home. The would-be intruder was caught in the throat and Walter pushed him back. It’s hand flailed to the side as it lost it’s footing and was sent down the front steps tumbling down to the foot of the next zombie.

  “Get your shoes on!” Walter yelled to Barbara.

  She set the rifle down and slipped on her shoes in a flash, jumping back up to grab the rifle and head out the door. She stood in front of the door, bringing the rifle up to her shoulder and pulled a bead on the zombie leading the second wave.

  Jeff was still struggling to knock his zombie off the porch.

  “Need a hand?”

  “No, I’m good, I think…”

  Barbara ran over to him and smashed the butt of the gun into the side of the tall zombie’s head, making a cracking noise. Jeff seized the opportunity and pushed with all of his might. The zombie was almost over the railing, then Barbara hit it again and over it went.

  “Thanks, Barbie.”

  “Whatever, dweeb, go help dad.”

  Barbara moved back to her spot by the door and found the lead zombie again. Her father had already taken care of him, so she sought out the next closest zombie. She pulled a bead on a fat old lady zombie. She had curlers in her hair and the remnants of a moo-moo. Her lower half was covered in bites and rips. Her yellow fat hung out of the rips in her skin and Barbara almost vomited after seeing it. She held the bile back and pulled the trigger. Part of Fat Old Lady Zombie’s head exploded, but she kept on walking.