I guide Bilbo up the hill to the dead tree. I whisper, “Good boy,” to him. I’m not sure how one talks to a horse, so I go off of instinct. I once had a dog in Haven. His name was Cupcake. We had many good years before old age eventually took him. He died in my arms, peacefully. Though not a horse, Cupcake responded very well to praise. Seems like Bilbo does the same. He likes me and I don’t like that. Can’t get attached. There’s no point in getting attached in this world.
At the top of the hill, I dismount. I tell the horse to stay, he doesn’t listen. I have to tie him up to the other side of the tree without much slack. He’ll get a front row seat to this show.
Then I’m dragging Brandon to the base of the tree, sitting him up against the trunk. He’s groggy, but his eyes are fluttering open. I start working on his binds, untying everything but his hands and feet. With the extra rope I have, I’m able to wrap it around the tree’s trunk and knot it. Just as I’m doing this, Brandon says, “Where the fuck am I?”
I round the trunk and reply, “I wouldn’t be too loud if I were you. These woods are crawling with the dead.”
“Who the fuck are you?” he spits.
“You know who I am.”
“No, I really don’t,” Brandon says.
I kneel and draw my blade.
“Oh, I see, you’re some wacko with a sword. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.”
A grin spreads on my face. That’s cute. Brandon hasn’t lost any of his asshole-ish charm.
I flip the sword around and press on Brandon’s wound with the hilt. He screams loud enough to stir the birds out of their sleep. They take to the sky, flapping their wings furiously, as they caw into the night.
I ease up.
“You piece of shit,” he seethes. “As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to slit your throat like the Overlord slit your wife’s.”
Rage blinds me. Those words he spoke bring a taste of hot bile up my throat. In this blind moment of fury, I am not sure what I do to him. Distantly, I hear his screams, I hear thuds, skin connecting with skin, the horse whinnying.
As I come back down to earth, I am panting. My fists are slick with blood. They sting and burn, like cracked and bleeding lips.
Brandon has a smile on his face. Red outlines each tooth like extended gums. He laughs. It’s a wet laugh, thick with blood, pain.
“Yeah, I recognize ya. Took me a minute to realize it was you with that raccoon’s ass of a beard on your face.” Brandon laughs again. I resist the urge to kill him right here on the spot. Somewhere in the forest, I am dimly aware of a twig snapping underfoot. He leans over, still tied, still at my disposal, and spits a wad of blood onto the long blades of grass. It shimmers in the moonlight. Somehow, though, it feels as if I’ve lost control of this situation, just as I had lost control of the situation at Haven.
No. No, I can’t let him get in my head.
“Shut up,” I tell him. “The dead will hear you.”
“Bring ‘em on,” Brandon says. A wild look invades his eyes, almost zombie-like in nature. “Hear me? Bring those cocksuckers on!” he shouts. His voice carries, echoes in the hills.
Jesus, this guy is crazier than I remember.
There’s a momentary lull in our conversation. I’m staring at him, unsure of what to do. I should just kill him. Just end it so I don’t have to see that terrible face any longer.
But deep down inside I know I’ll never forget his face for as long as I live. I won’t forget any of the faces that had a hand in killing my wife and son, in kicking my life right out from beneath me.
“What you want with me? Jupiter, is it?”
I nod.
“What you want with me, Jupiter?”
“Information,” I say.
Brandon grins again. “Only information I have that you would wanna know is what me and the boys did to your wife’s corpse when you was passed out.”
My blood freezes. I resist the urge to double over and be sick. Nausea has invaded me, nausea and hate. More hate than I knew I was capable of.
“Yeah, that was quite a fun time. How we passed her back and forth. The dead chicks will let you do anything to them. And I mean anything—”
I hit him, can’t listen to that any longer. Then I breathe slowly, trying to keep cool.
“Any position. Any hole. You name it—”
I hit him again. It’s hard not to kill him right now. It’s possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I have to change the subject, have to get down to business.
“I want information on the one-eyed man,” I demand.
“Good luck finding it.”
I smile now. I’m in control here. I have to remember that. “How much more pain do you think you can take?” I ask. How calmly these words come out surprises me. “I’ve only just pressed your wound with the hilt of this sword here. What do you think will happen when I stick the blade in and twist?”
Brandon’s face goes stone-smooth.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” I turn the sword on him and aim for the bleeding gash in his shoulder. He winces, tries to pull back away from me, but is blocked by the tree. I hover right above the wound. The edge winks in the moonlight. Behind, a groan creeps up the hill.
“Ah, our first guest has arrived,” I say, turning around. “It’s a dinner party.” I give Brandon a wink. “You’re the main course.”
A zombie in tattered clothes shambles toward us. Her eyes are blazing with hunger. As she gets closer, I see her jaw hanging by strands of sinew, muscle, and bone. It swings back and forth like a pendulum. She may not be too successful in chewing on Brandon, but her upper teeth are as sharp as ever.
More flood out from the surrounding trees. Luckily, we have the high ground. If we didn’t I would have already gotten the hell out of here.
I look to Brandon. His stony expression has vanished. Now his eyes are wide, full of tears. Seeing this man quivering like a frightened puppy almost makes me feel bad for him.
Almost.
It’s the sight of all the zombies that make him look this way. There’s a lot.
I wonder if these zombies are locals, people infected by the virus or bitten by their loved ones, doomed to roam these woods until someone comes along and puts a bullet or a blade between their eyes.
“Let me out of here, man,” Brandon suddenly says in a weak voice. It surprises me.
Bilbo, on the other side of the tree, whinnies and wickers. Time is short. I’ll have to act fast.
“Not until you tell me what I want to know,” I say.
The first zombie is only a few feet away from me. Her sights are set on Brandon—thankfully. The zombies seem to evolve, at least the slightest bit. They know when getting their sustenance will be a challenge. To put it simply: don’t attack the guy holding a large sword.
I step out of the way and let the zombie get close enough to Brandon for her smell to engulf both of us. It’s a terrible smell. I’m sure I’ve described it before. It’s the smell of spoiled meat, of sickness.
Just as she lunges at Brandon, I stick my foot out and trip her.
She lands with a wet thud in the grass. One arm is outstretched. Dead, sickly-gray fingers wrap around Brandon’s boot. He kicks out, but she’s not letting go. She’s practically superglued on. It seems she has some upper body strength left, too, because she pulls herself closer to him despite all of his kicking.
As this is happening, more are making their way up the hill. They are only coming up the same way this first zombified woman has come up. Not the smartest creatures, these zombies. I scan around the rest of the hill to make sure. So far, we’re good. None are coming for neither I or Bilbo.
After what Brandon said about Darlene and Haven, I suppose it’s all right for me to have a little fun with this. After what he did.
Yes, get answers. I know.
That’s the next step.
Now the other hand finds his crotch and Brandon squeals like a pig.
“Please!” he shouts. “Plea
se! I’ll tell you anything you want.”
“Where is the one-eyed man?” I say.
From the crotch, this dead hand finds a coil of rope wrapped around Brandon’s chest. A firm grasp and a desperate pull, and this zombie is breathing death right into his face.
“Ohio!” he shouts.
I suddenly think I’m going to be sick again.
Ohio? I thought I was done with that dreadful place.
“Where at in Ohio?”
Brandon tries to flatten himself up against the oak. No luck. “P-P-Please! Get it off me!”
I grab the zombie by her greasy, dirt-caked hair and yank backward. She lands on the tip of my blade. Brains leak from this fresh hole and the death rattling in the back of her throat ends along with her second life.
“There’s your freebie,” I say. “The next one that gets that close, well, I’m going to let it take a hearty bite.”
I know. I’m sick. I’m sadistic. Guilt turns my skin icy and I hate myself, but then I look at Brandon’s face and I see what sick and sadistic truly is.
“So, Brandon, tell me more.” I make a show of looking relaxed. I’m anything but relaxed.
“I told you all I know!” he says. “He’s in Ohio. There’s a place he found through one of his visions! It’s called Leering.”
Before he’s finished his sentence, my stomach drops lower than ever. I didn’t think it was possible. Leering Research Facility, now there’s truly a blast from the past, and it’s right on the edge of my old hometown.
It’s times like these that I think life truly is one big circle. We always end up back where we started.
We shall see, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that it’s affirmative.
Brandon stares at me, waiting for me to set him free. I believe him because he’s scared to death. I can see it in his eyes, in his pale face. It’s funny, really, how men turn to mice when they’re stripped of their weapons and tied to a tree as zombie bait.
I’ve got all I need to know. It’s not like the one-eyed man is hiding. I know exactly where Leering is—or was. Last I heard, it had burned down. I wonder in the six months I’d been on the road since I’d last been in Woodhaven if some shady organization like Central had tried to salvage all of its secrets. It wouldn’t surprise me.
Groans behind again.
I spin around and lop off the head of a naked zombie much too close to Bilbo and I. The body crumbles to a pile of dust as soon as my blade makes contact. Poor bastard, I’m thinking, how unfortunate to turn without your clothes on. I’d at least have the decency to put on a robe if I knew where my sickness was heading. Not everyone is as wise as me, I guess.
“Oh, thank God,” Brandon breathes. He’s beyond on-edge.
“There’s another freebie. I want to know more,” I say, wiping the blade off on Brandon’s head. Goo and dried brains settled on his curly, dark hair like a hat.
I know, I know. I’m a monster. All that bullshit.
“Anything! Anything you want, Jupiter!” he shouts.
But I don’t know what to ask him. So I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why? Why did he do it?”
Brandon’s brow furrows, causing the zombie dandruff to cascade down his face. “Why did who do what?”
“You know who. You know what,” I say.
Brandon closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath. “Jupiter, is that really the question you want to ask me right now?”
I nod.
I can already feel the zombies closing in behind me. Their guttural howls, their unnerving footsteps. Right now, I don’t care. Right now, I am invincible.
“Why did he do it? Why did you follow him?”
Brandon stares past me at the zombies. I step back, but I don’t slice and dice. Not yet. Have to keep the fear ingrained in him.
“Answer me,” I demand.
The nearest zombie lunges at Brandon. I grab the creature’s waistband. This man has died and come back wearing sweatpants, thank God. The elastic hasn’t snapped or rotted. So it’s like having the zombie on a bungee cord as he flails his scabby arms at Brandon and clamps his jaws open and closed with a click loud enough to be heard over the chorus of zombie voices.
Bilbo is prancing, trying to get away. Soon, my new friend, soon.
Brandon screams and turns his head. I give the zombie a little more slack. He’s inches away from Brandon’s ear.
“This one is hungry!” I shout. “Answer the question and I’ll throw him down the hill. Do a little zombie bowling.”
“He did it because he just enjoys chaos! And we followed him because…”
I push the zombie forward. His face makes contact with Brandon’s. Brandon screams bloody murder, shrill enough to make me want to cringe away. The zombie, lucky for Brandon, doesn’t take a chunk out of his cheek. The sudden movement confuses the beast. All that Brandon has to show for this incident is a smeared red mark that isn’t his blood.
“Followed him because why?” I shout, pulling the zombie back again.
“Because he’s crazy enough to thrive in this fucked up world!” Brandon shouts. “Because he has a way with words!”
That sounds about right. People think there’s safety in crazy. Look at Germany following Hitler. Sometimes they’re so scared, they can’t sense the crazy they’re choosing to follow until it’s too late.
It’s good enough. The zombie meets my blade and stops struggling.
“It’s all about survival,” Brandon babbles. “They think he’s the best bet at surviving.”
I nod. There’s one more question on my mind. I ask it. “Everyone in Haven. When I woke up, everyone was either dead or gone. What happened to the others?”
Brandon smiles. His eyes don’t. In those eyes there is still fear. “What do you think happened to them?” I think they’re still out there. Somewhere. They have to be.
I point the blade, slick with zombie blood, at his open wound. He knows as well as I do that if that blood gets into his own blood stream, he’s only got a few hours before he turns, but he doesn’t wince at this. It’s quite dissatisfying.
“They went with him, with us. They drank the fucking Kool-Aid. Do you blame them?” Brandon says.
No way. That’s impossible.
I think of Norm and Abby, part of the few bodies among the ruins I did not find. Some of the deceased were desiccated, but not beyond recognition. I scoured the remains. I scoured the whole park. It took me nearly two weeks to do this, to find and bury all of the dead. I was so sore afterward, I could hardly walk, but I couldn’t just lie down. Back then, I was stupid enough to keep going. So I did. I killed any zombies that found their way through the blown-away gates. Beat any others who I’d stumbled upon feasting on the corpses. I was an angry man then. I was hotheaded.
Not any longer.
Now, I am a numb man.
Still, I cannot see Norm and Abby joining up with the one-eyed man and the District, those who had killed their loved ones and destroyed their homes.
I look at Brandon, hate in my eyes. “Why did he leave me alive?”
“Oh, finally! An easy one!” Brandon chuckles.
The nearest zombie lunges and I slice it in half with a grunt. A spray of blood soaks my pants, chills me. How it is so cold, I have no clue, especially when the days have been warm and the nights barely chilly.
“He wanted you to see what he’d done,” Brandon says. “He wanted you to wake up and take it all in.”
“Why me?”
Brandon smiles slyly. I have stared into the face of evil countless times before. I can recognize it from a mile away. In this day and age, there are more evil men and women than there are good, it seems. But Brandon…he is beyond evil. He is way past a point of no return.
“You, because he dreamed about you,” Brandon says. “You, because you threatened him.”
“I didn’t even know him.”
“Didn’t matter.”
“Does he still dream about me?”
> “I highly doubt it. You’re not exactly important anymore. I mean, look at you. You look like death reincarnated. Like that thing.” Brandon nods at a zombie close behind me. I turn around to be greeted with a gruesome sight. One arm. A chest that’s caved in, an exposed blackened heart. The snarling face, lips peeled back, teeth bloody. I kill the thing before it has a chance to lunge.
“I haven’t seen the Overlord for many a moon. It’s not my destiny to see him any longer,” Brandon says. His face goes slack, as if he’s repeating a prayer he’s memorized. There’s a blank, dead look in his eyes. “No, I’ve seen the future and I’m not in it. Isn’t that right, Jupiter?”
Goosebumps prickle my flesh. This isn’t right. This whole experience is wrong. I don’t know what’s going on, what Brandon is doing to me.
“Thank you, Jupiter. Thank you for giving me what I want. Thank you, thank you, thank you! The Overlord thanks you, too.” He starts to shake, to writhe like a snake. I take a step back. Cold flesh touches my hand. I turn around.
More zombies.
I nearly fall just as one reaches out for me.
“Your friends are one of us, Jupiter!” Brandon is shouting. “You can be, too. I’m sure he’d welcome you with open arms…if you let him.”
The words barely register in my brain because I’m reaching for my gun, almost dropping my sword, too, as I swing it as hard as I can in a semicircle. Blood splashes. Limbs dice.
The gun in my hand now. I aim up, blow the face off of the nearest zombie. All that’s left standing in front of me is a mounting mess of gore. I’m quick on the trigger. True on the aim. Three more drop, double-dead.
“It’s okay, Jupiter. Let him in. Let him in!” Brandon says. My heart has either beat so hard its exploded in my chest or I’m more numb than numb. Now that I have cleared some room, I turn around and rush toward Bilbo. Two zombies have spotted the horse and make their way toward him.
Two more shots. Horse is not on the menu tonight.
Brandon doesn’t scream as a few zombies fall to the ground before him. It’s all happening in slow motion, eerie opera music playing in my head. The spray of the reddest blood I’ve ever seen exploding from his jugular. The twitching of his neck as flesh is torn and stretched beyond its capability, drowning out the opera music with a wet and audible snap. The whole time this goes on, Brandon’s eyes never leave mine. There’s knowledge in those eyes. Maybe it’s the knowledge of death. Maybe it’s the knowledge of the future. I can’t say for sure. All I do know is that it creeps me out, scares me beyond belief.
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