When he’s done, he steps back, wiping tears from his cheeks, smearing dirt there. The others are crying, too.
“I’d like to say a few words,” Abby says. “I’ll keep it short and simple.”
I nod at her. In the golden sunlight streaming through the trees, her eyes are red from crying, bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Norm,” she begins in a soft voice I barely hear over the sighing of the wind, “you were a son-of-a-bitch sometimes, but you kept me grounded. You taught me a lot of useful shit, like how to start a campfire, how to debone a fish. You taught me a lot of dumb shit, too, things I still do in my day-to-day life. But most importantly, you taught me how to have fun. I don’t know how many times I hit you for talkin’ stupid or just being stupid, but I’d give anything on Earth to be able to hit you again.
“When I was in Chicago, doing all those bad things under the pretense of being brainwashed, I kept asking myself ‘What would Norm do? How would he get out of this?’ and I could never find the answer, especially knowing you were a couple states over, brainwashed out of your mind, bending your knee to the Overlord. But I had my memories of the past, all the stuff you taught me, and that helped me get through my time there. It helped more than you’d ever know. You know it isn’t easy for me to say this, but I love you, man, and I’ll miss the hell out of you.”
Abby steps away from the patted dirt. The tears flow stronger down her cheek. As she walks by me, I grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.
She knows as well as I that life changed for the worse when the Overlord sent his army to Haven. Abby did what she had to do to survive, and so did Norm. But life is more than just survival—it’s about free will, and that free will was taken from all those murdered and mutilated, all those kidnapped and brainwashed.
This squeeze of Abby’s hand, I hope, communicates more than any words ever could. It tells her that this is not over, that I am here for her now, and that the Overlord will burn.
“Sorry. Went on a little longer than I intended,” Abby says.
“It was beautiful,” Nacho says.
Through a haze of tears, Mandy agrees.
I step forward. I do intend to keep my words short. I said all that needed to be said to Norm as he died in my arms on the football field. Besides, I was a writer too many years ago; words fail me now, and no words could truly convey the love I felt for my older brother.
I say, “Norm, I love you. I hope you find Tim and Herb and Darlene and Junior and everyone else we lost. I hope you find your peace. And most importantly, I hope there’s a lot of beer and a lot of karaoke in heaven.”
“Amen,” Roland says and crosses himself.
We leave the grave, heading back to the road. Norm’s eternal rest officially begins, but I know deep down inside that I’ll be seeing him again. Soon.
Three
As it turns out, we aren’t far from the Ohio border.
With the sunlight and the new day comes visibility, and we see in the distance the etchings of a medium-sized metropolis against the sky. There are a few skyscrapers, apartment buildings, offices. The closest city I can compare it to, on a personal level, is Akron, Ohio. Like Akron, this is a place that once had a couple hundred thousand occupants, no professional sports teams, a state university, maybe.
If we continue heading east, we’ll hit the downtown area.
“We need a ride,” I say. “The Overlord will be onto us.”
“At the very least,” Abby says. “He’ll be onto us, but he’ll also send out his goons. The Black Knights most definitely made it out of the city. They’ll be on the hunt.”
“But we got out in a helicopter,” Mandy says. “No way they’ll find us.”
Lilly perks up. We’re walking on the dirt road, heading closer and closer to the empty skyscrapers in the distance. “I’m sure someone in the Overlord’s circle knew how much fuel was in the helicopter. Simple math will tell them how far we got. I mean, we could’ve only gone four directions, right?”
I nod. It’s crazy, I know, but I wouldn’t put it past the Overlord to be so thorough. This is a man who felt threatened by a medium-sized safe haven thousands of miles away from his setup—so threatened that he personally saw to the ravaging of the place, my place. He is power hungry. He wants to take over the graveyard that was once the United States and make it his own, and I think he’ll stop at nothing until he does.
But I also think he feels endangered, especially now that we have destroyed one of his cities. He knows we’re the real deal. He has to.
I hope he is scared, I really do. I am coming for him. I just need a ride first.
“Come on,” I say. “Just up ahead.”
“No zombies,” Mandy says. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”
I shrug.
“Dammit!” Roland exclaims. “You said the magic words. Now they’re gonna come. That’s just how it goes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mandy replies.
“That gas station,” I say. “Up ahead.”
We keep walking. I’m in the lead, Abby and Lilly behind me. They’re talking about something I’ll never understand: Ryan Gosling’s good looks. It’s been nearly two decades since the world has ended, and they’re still hung up on Hollywood.
The gas station is a Speedway. There are all these signs and advertisements hung up in the window. TWO HOT DOGS FOR TWO BUCKS! GET YOUR MORNING CUP HERE! But they’re yellowed with age, some of the signs hanging crookedly in the dusty windows. This place sits pretty much by itself on the road. About a quarter mile back, the dirt changed to asphalt, but the asphalt is cracked, the yellow line bisecting it faded. Plants and grass grow through cracks everywhere. Soon, Mother Nature will devour the road; soon, the roads will no longer exist. There are not many people left to travel on them anyway.
“I’ll go first,” I say, “get a look around the place. See if I can find anything.” We’re in dire need of water and food. Anything that’ll make this journey a little easier.
Mandy steps forward. She puts a big hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “No, let me. Ladies first, right?”
“Not necessary,” I say.
They shouldn’t even be traveling with me—Roland, Mandy, and Nacho. I told them to get out of the city, to head west when they still could. They didn’t, obviously, and I don’t know why.
Then again…where would I be without them?
“There’s probably nothing inside,” Nacho says. “I’ll go with her. That make you feel better, friend?”
I stand there for a moment, looking at the gas station. What could possibly be inside besides an ancient zombie, sluggish and easily beatable? We are so far out of the city that I feel no threats here, but then again…
I step forward. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll do a quick scan, see what I can find—”
But Mandy and Nacho have already started walking in front of me. Mandy is laughing and Nacho is echoing her laughter. I’m glad they can still laugh. As many years as they’ve spent in the wasteland…laughing is something to be proud of.
“Be careful!” I shout after them, but of course they know that. You don’t get this far without being—
An explosion from the gas station cuts off my line of thought completely. I’m blown backward, a scorching heat unlike any I’ve felt before roasting my front. Then my body jolts as it comes to a screeching halt against the concrete. My ears are ringing, a high-pitched beeeeep sounding in my head. As this fades, I hear Abby’s and Lilly’s moans of pain.
Slowly, painfully, I sit up. Blood runs down my forehead, and my hair, normally slicked back, is in my eyes.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a war zone, but when I look up, I see the Speedway sign standing high in the sky. Flames are billowing out of the broken front windows. The door is gone. One of the gas islands is nothing but scorched and curled metal.
Worst of all, I see two bodies lying near it, both of them obliterated, like the rest of the world.
Four
I stand up, but I don’t know how. The air feels like fire, and there’s blood dripping off of my face, splashing onto the gas-stained concrete. I rush over to Abby. She’s groggy, a little scratched and bloody herself, but otherwise okay.
Roland was the farthest away. He’s in the middle of the road behind us, scorched but okay, too.
I make my way toward Lilly, who was probably the closest to the blast besides Nacho and Mandy.
“I got her, Jack,” Abby says hoarsely. “Check the others.”
But I know there isn’t much left of them to check on. Through the heat-shimmering air, I see that neither of the bodies are moving.
Still, I limp toward them, avoiding the small flames devouring debris from the inside of the gas station.
Mandy is who I settle my eyes on first.
I wish she wasn’t, but once they are on her, I find I can’t take them away. She is burned to a crisp. All of her hair is gone…and most of her face. One arm is missing nearly up to the shoulder, and the way she landed on the pavement bent her right leg back at an excruciating angle. My stomach clenches with nausea, and I almost double over and spew. The smell is the worst part; the pungent odor of charred flesh and hair.
Mandy is dead, and again, it should be me instead.
Just as my eyes move from her smoldering corpse toward Nacho, he coughs. No, ‘coughs’ isn’t right; he hacks.
I bend down close to him. Blood runs from his mouth, down his chin and neck. One of his eyes has been stabbed through with shrapnel, reddish-white pus pooling in his socket. His cheeks are burned. He’s missing teeth.
“S-stomach,” he moans. One charred hand pats at his middle; there is a squelching sound that follows. “My stom—”
I don’t want to look down at his injury, but I do. His belly has been torn open. Shiny, gray tubes dripping with blood have fallen out of the wide gash. His guts.
In a way, this is more damning than a zombie bite. An injury like this is impossible to come back from, barring a medical miracle, and since we’re seemingly in the middle of nowhere, far away from medicine and people qualified to perform such a surgery, Nacho, I know, is out of luck.
“Oh, Nacho,” Roland says from over my shoulder. I didn’t hear him come up behind me, with the flames roaring. “Oh, Nacho, man.”
The others come, too. Lilly’s limping, one arm around Abby’s shoulders.
“It—it hurts,” Nacho says. “R-real b-b-bad.”
“I know,” I say. “I know.” But I don’t know. There’s no way I could ever know pain such as this.
He closes his eyes tightly, wrinkles crease his brow.
“What do we do?” Lilly says.
Abby and I exchange a look. We both know what we have to do. We both know it’s the humane thing.
“No,” Roland says. He must’ve caught mine and Abby’s glance. “No, you can’t.”
In a low voice, Abby says, “What, do we just let him suffer while he bleeds out? His insides are on the outside, man.”
“No. No, he’ll get better. He’ll heal up. Just give him—” Roland stutters, but I’m up now and I have my hand on his shoulder.
Shaking my head, I say, “Abby’s right. It’s what needs to be done.”
Nacho opens his one eye. The other is just a mutilated mess. Slowly, he nods his head. “D-do it.”
“Are you sure, Nacho? It doesn’t have to be the end for you,” Roland says, leaning closer to the dying man.
“Pain,” Nacho replies. “Too much.”
He closes his one eye again, and I think he’s going to die right here. I almost hope that he does so we don’t have to do what needs to be done, but Nacho’s chest rises and falls raggedly. He’s still alive. How, I don’t know.
Roland turns away from him. I can’t imagine how hard it is for the guy. They’d known each other for a long time, judging by their relationship, at least. The specifics are beyond me. But I know it’s hard for me to see Nacho like this, Mandy too, so it must be damn near brain-splitting for Roland.
“I can’t do it,” Roland says.
I put my arm on his shoulder, look him directly in the eyes. “You don’t have to, man. I’ll do it.”
This wouldn’t be the first time I put someone out of their misery, but, believe it or not, there was once a time when I couldn’t do such a thing.
We had met that man on our way out of Woodhaven all those years ago—Darlene, Abby, Norm, and I. This was before we found Herb. The man warned us that Eden, our destination at the time, was nothing but death, and we didn’t heed his warning. I wish we would’ve. This man had been robbed and beaten nearly to death. He was dying, in pain. Norm told me to do it, but I just couldn’t. He was the one who ended up pulling the trigger.
How long ago that all seems now.
“Jack,” Abby says, “I can do it if you want.”
I shake my head. “Not necessary.”
I pull out the handgun from the helicopter then snap the cylinder open. Five rounds fill the chambers.
Roland gives me one last terrible look, and it breaks my heart to see the old, skinny guy like that. He’s about as hard looking as any Harley-riding, leather-jacket-wearing biker I’ve ever seen, but right now, he seems more like a scared kid.
I can’t blame him for that. All these years in the wasteland and I’m still scared, too.
“Goodbye, Nacho,” Roland mumbles.
I doubt the little Mexican man hears him, and even if he could, who knows if his mind can comprehend the words. He is gone. I can tell that much as I stand over him now.
Looking down, his one open eye is glazed over. For half a heartbeat, I think he might’ve passed on, and what a mercy that would be, but then he takes another ragged breath, and I see he hasn’t.
“I’m sorry, Nacho,” I say.
He doesn’t respond, but he manages a smile, his teeth bloody, some of them missing, knocked loose from the concussive blast.
Why? I’m thinking to myself as I pull the hammer of the handgun back. Why do the good ones always die and the bad ones keep living?
It was supposed to be me who walked into that explosion, who tripped the wire of whatever trap wound up ending Mandy’s and Nacho’s lives. I should’ve gone. It should’ve been—
I pull the trigger, looking away
The round goes directly into Nacho’s forehead. The crack of the gunshot rolls far in the distance, toward the skyscrapers in the heart of downtown. I smell the familiar smell of gun smoke even over the burned bodies and the gasoline.
“We’ll have to bury them,” I say. “Find a nice place. Roland, I think you should pick it out, since you knew them so well.”
Roland, his eyes damp, nods solemnly.
But then Lilly raises a shaking arm and points off in the distance, in the direction we had come from.
“I don’t think we’ll get to,” she says.
Before I even follow the direction of her finger, I know exactly what she is talking about.
The one constant in this fucked-up world.
The dead, the zombies, the walking abominations.
A group of a hundred, maybe more, ambles their way down the cracked road, no doubt drawn by the blast of the explosion and the thunder of the gunshot.
“Fuck them,” I say to myself, but it comes out louder than I intend.
“Yeah, fuck them,” Abby echoes.
“We better get a move on,” Lilly says. “Jack, unless you can carry two bodies…”
I can’t. It’s as simple as that. Mandy was a large woman, the kind who could’ve easily played professional basketball in a different world, and Nacho, though he was short, was solid and must weigh close to two hundred pounds.
I shake my head.
“I can try,” Roland says in a small voice. “Godammit, I can try.”
These are the times when I hate that I’ve been elected leader. The zombies, spurred on by the possibility of a meal, probably smelling the scent of charred meat, have sped up; the dow
nward slope of the road helps them, too. We don’t have time. We can’t be slowed down. Not now.
“We have to leave them, Roland, or we’ll die.”
“But they’re my friends.”
“I know. They’re mine, too, but they’d understand,” I reply, hoping, if there is an afterlife and they’re looking down on us, that they do understand.
It’s true they were my friends. Without them, I would be dead beneath the city. Nacho flew us out, and Mandy helped us discover the place where the District kept their bombs.
They’re dead, but like Norm, they won’t be forgotten.
Abby, her arm around Lilly’s waist, starts moving away from the zombies at our backs. Roland continues standing near the burning pumps, looking on at his dead friends.
“Just leave me here with them,” he says. “I’ll protect them.”
My grip on his shoulder tightens. “No. You’re coming with us. You’re not dying here.”
“Just leave me.” As Roland lowers his head, a tear drips from the bridge of his nose and onto the gas-stained ground.
The zombies are so close I can smell them, that ancient scent of long decomposed bodies; I can hear them, too, their death rattles. In the lead is a walking pile of dust, each step jerky and painful. The zombie’s legs are too slow for the pace at which the rest of its body wants to go, and gravity wins out, pulling him down the hill. There’s no scream of shock and surprise. It just continues rattling and reaching out in our direction with arms as thin as reeds.
Lying in the middle of the street, perhaps twenty yards from where Roland and I stand, the others catch up and trample this fallen zombie to powder and dust.
“Jack!” Abby yells, looking over her shoulder. “Come on!”
I hesitate for a moment, the debate in my mind as clear as day, but only for a moment. There’s no leaving Roland behind, not even if he was on his knees and begging me. We have already lost Mandy and Nacho, and I blame myself for that.
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