The Dead Collection Box Set #2: Jack Zombie Books 5-8

by Flint Maxwell

  Darlene on the ground, bleeding, dead. My son, the same. These images are always floating in my mind, but now they’re at the forefront, and that constant flow of blood, of life-force, is leaking around the edges of my vision, turning everything red.

  “Because, Jack, I wanted to offer you an ultimatum,” the Overlord says. “After what happened in San Francisco, that little community you called Haven, the guilt ate away at me.”

  “So you do remember me,” I say. It’s not a question.

  “Of course! I never forget anyone. I know, I know, I killed your wife and son, and whomever else you cared about, but it was necessary. You have to understand that. All’s fair in love and war, right? That’s what they used to say, isn’t it?”

  My hands clench into fists.

  “I’ve seen you many times in my visions,” the Overlord says.

  Here we go again.

  “I saw you coming. You’ve been after me for a number of years, haven’t you? But you’ve only recently found the courage and the help to come and meet me. Again, I’m so sorry for your losses. Roland, Nacho, Mandy…and of course, Norman, your brother.”

  “You saw that, too, huh?” I ask. My mouth feels coated with poison. I’m intoxicated with adrenaline.

  “I did. I see a number of things. I don’t know what it is, what caused it,” the Overlord says. He’s still smirking, the corners of his lips curled up like a preying shark sneaking up for an easy kill. “But I possess a gift. Well…‘gift’ may be a generous term for it. It can also be a curse.” He turns around, walks back to his desk. One hand hovers near an assortment of writing utensils, the other cups his chin when he turns and looks at me. “You see, I saw you coming to the city and I saw you besting my Black Knights and I saw you would be successful. So I decided it best to meet with you another time. That’s why I sent Norman in my stead, your very own brother. Of course, when you met him again after all this time, he wasn’t exactly your brother anymore, was he? No, not quite.”

  The fire in my belly, the fire of anger, goes supernova. If this is true, if he can really see into the future with his ‘visions’ then he knew I would kill Norm. He knew I’d have no choice. I may have been the one who stabbed him, who ended his life, but as far as I’m concerned, it was the Overlord who killed him. Just another life to add to the list of people he has murdered. More blood on his hands. More revenge on my mind.

  “See, Jack, you had to kill him. If you didn’t, I certainly would have.”

  “You’re a piece of shit,” Abby says.

  She sits up, and Hamlet shifts from out of the shadows, but she stays on the couch. No need for another punch. If he did, I’d surely try killing him. I’m too angry, too revved up, to think rationally.

  “I know I am, Abby,” the Overlord says. “And I’m okay with that. There’s no point in lying to one’s self. I think,” he waves his hands out to us, “we’re all pieces of shit, are we not?”

  Neither of us speak. Hamlet’s breathing behind us is labored, heavy, like him.

  “You know, Jack, I’m a fan of your work,” the Overlord says. He walks over to his shelves, pulls out a book, turns it so I can see. A relic from the past. It’s the first Johnny Deadslayer. “We found this in the library. It’s in near mint condition. Not many people seemed to check it out. Anyway, I was hoping you’d sign it for me. Now, I’m not much of a reader, not books anyhow.” He points to his missing eye. “This gives me a headache, straining over all those tiny words. No, I’m more of an audiobook fan. I couldn’t find this one on tape, unfortunately, but your brother read it aloud to me. It’s quite good…different, but good.” He grabs a pen off his desk and flips the book open to the cover page. Looking at it, looking at my name under the title, fills me with a longing sense of nostalgia.

  He hands me the pen. I take it. I don’t know why, I guess it’s an old reflex. Someone hands you something, the first thing you do is stick your hand out and grab it, usually before your mind can register what it is.

  “ ‘To a dear friend’ works for me, Jack,” he says.

  I’m not signing. The reason I took the pen is I plan to gouge out his other eye with it.

  I spring up, I grab him around his skinny throat, feel the Adam’s apple grating against my clenched fingers as he tries to swallow, and then I raise the pen above my head.

  I’m going to kill this bastard.

  Forty-Seven

  “N-now,” he chokes out, and I’m expecting Hamlet’s rough hands to grab me by the shoulders and throw me out the window.

  That doesn’t happen, so I squeeze harder. Raise my right hand with the pen. The Overlord catches my wrist, and he’s strong, strong enough to slow me down.

  Whatever, I’ll just strangle him with my other hand. That’s more than he deserves, but I don’t care. All I want is his death.

  The Overlord’s one good eye bulges and looks like it’s going to pop. His face turns red and bleeds into purple. I’m squeezing so hard that I think I can feel his vertebrae on my fingertips.

  I yell something. I don’t know what, but I see the spittle fly from my lips. I imagine I look like a wild dog.

  Be crazier, Norm says. Be crazier!

  How long does it take to choke a person to death? How long until his brain explodes from his ears? How long—

  The Overlord raises his left hand. I think he’s going to hit me, so I go on the defense, preparing for the blow. My clenched fingers ease up.

  “Look,” he wheezes.

  That’s when I’m aware of Hamlet on my right. The door closes behind him.

  But he’s not alone. There are two more guards with big guns. One with a buzzcut. The other nearly as big as Hamlet.

  “Hey, asshole!” Hamlet shouts. I realize he’s holding someone.

  I turn and look. What I see makes my hands go slack, makes the anger I feel pulsing through me dissipate.

  Hamlet holds Lilly by the hair. Her neck is out in the open, and he’s holding a knife against the soft, white flesh. She’s bloody, beaten. A red stream runs down from her nostrils. Her short hair is all over the place, as if she has just woken up.

  I catch eyes with Lilly, and you would think she would be scared, that her eyes would be pleading for mercy, but they’re not. Her eyes are flinty. Hard.

  Her lips mouth, ‘Don’t.’

  But I can’t. I can’t let her die. I can’t watch her throat get slit.

  So I let go of the Overlord, and I stumble backward, toward the couch.

  But I don’t let go of the pen. I think it will come in handy, the only weapon I’ve got.

  Hamlet’s looking over at the one-eyed man, who nods solemnly and rubs at the red mark around his neck. Then Lilly’s hitting the floor in front of the couch.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she says.

  I help her up. Abby and I both wrap our arms around her.

  We’re family. I can’t lose them. I can’t lose anyone else.

  “How touching,” the Overlord says. His voice is more grating than usual. He clears his throat. “I’ll let that outburst slide, Jack. I understand you harbor much anger toward me, and that’s perfectly reasonable. However, I think you’ll understand why I do not want your autograph anymore.” He smiles.

  The anger inside of me burns again. He is a man in complete control, and he knows it.

  “You okay, boss?” one of the other guards asks, the one with the buzzcut. He looks over at us harshly, like we’re the scum of the Earth.

  “I think so. Thank you. Hamlet and I should be able to handle this. I’ll ring you if we need further assistance,” the Overlord says. Still rubbing at his neck, he settles on the edge of the desk.

  The other two guards file out.

  “Now, Jack, I say we get down to business,” the Overlord says. “The ultimatum. Before you try killing me again.” His one eye sparkles in my direction.

  That’s not good. Has he seen what I plan to do already?

  Forty-Eight

  For such a big man, H
amlet is quite agile. He has retreated to the shadows again. I try focusing on him without looking, listening to his steps, his gait, his heavy breathing, but it’s harder than I thought. He’s a three-hundred-pound ninja.

  “The ultimatum is simple, Jack,” the Overlord begins. “As you can see, we have quite a large following. The District covers nearly the entire East Coast and much of the Midwest. We have stations on the West Coast as well, and every day, those get stronger with more manpower. I have scientists and weapon specialists and economists and doctors—you name it—working around the clock to make this country great again. Soon, I believe, we will expand to Europe and the Caribbean, and perhaps other countries, too, but not in the immediate future. We are reproducing, the zombies are dying off, getting too weak to remain a major threat. They will, according to some very great minds, be extinct in only a matter of decades. The few stragglers will be no more dangerous than stumbling across a dying predator in the woods.”

  “Your point?” I say.

  “My point, Jack, is that we have won, we are winning, and we will continue to win. There’s no beating us. There’s no beating me.”

  “It’s not about that,” Abby says. “It’s about revenge.”

  The Overlord waves a hand, crosses his legs. “Revenge is overrated. We do not operate on the basis of revenge. Emotions can cloud one’s judgment and, in turn, make one lose. We don’t lose. Now, Jack, I am offering you a position here. Alongside me. We are much better suited to be allies than to be enemies, don’t you say?”

  I say nothing.

  “This offer also extends to Miss Lilly here, if she should be so inclined to accept—however, Miss Cage, I’m afraid you’ve already had your chance.” He looks at Abby with amusement in his eye.

  She flips him off.

  “That’s settled, then,” the Overlord says. He looks back at me. “Now, what do you say, Jack? I can hypnotize you, like I did with your brother. He didn’t know anything of his old life, he held no grudges, no qualms. He was a ruthless killing machine, much like you are now. Although you do have some rough edges needing smoothed out, but don’t worry, I can take care of that.” He waves his finger in front of his face like he’s holding a pocket watch to hypnotize someone, and he laughs. It’s a truly sickening sound.

  Hamlet crosses near the right arm of the couch, where I’m sitting. I can see him out of the corner of my eye. I can see the pistol on his belt. The pen up my sleeve seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and I feel it protruding from my arm like a splintered bone.

  “What’s my other option?” I ask.

  “You know what the other option is, Jack,” the Overlord answers. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just warfare. I can’t have a ruthless killing machine against me. The stunts you pulled at the gas well and then my prison city…those weren’t nice, my friend.”

  I wait a moment before I answer. Hamlet is getting closer. Hovering. I think he might grab me if I say no, and then the killing will begin. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.

  That gun on Hamlet’s hip is right there, inches away, but if I grab it, he’ll crush my head with his massive fists. I have to subdue him, slow him down.

  My hand goes to my throat, fingers the locket that holds a picture of my lost family. My heart aches as I picture the ground drinking up their blood, and I see their lifeless faces.

  I look up and meet the Overlord’s eye.

  “I would rather die.”

  The pen slides out of my sleeve and into my sweaty palm. I press the end of it and I make sure I hold it down when I stab.

  Forty-Nine

  I aim for Hamlet’s soft belly, but before I connect, he moves slightly.

  I think I’ve missed until I hear him screaming in pain.

  Norm always said the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and he was right. He hits the floor with an earth-quaking thud.

  The pen has lodged in Hamlet’s thigh, right in the meaty part, and trust me, he’s got a lot of meat. Blood gushes from the wound. I’ve driven it down at least an inch, maybe two.

  “You fucker,” he shouts, but I’m moving fast.

  My fingers work the clasp of his holster. The steel fills my hand. Then my fingers work the safety, the slide, and finally the trigger.

  The sound of the shot is explosive, echoing off the wood paneled walls, making the windows shake. I know this sounds crazy, I’m not a psychopath, I swear, but I don’t have time to savor the explosion of Hamlet’s skull because I’m turning around to face the Overlord.

  Blood sprays the ceiling, a big red firework of gore. It drips on me. I don’t care.

  The Overlord, he looks scared. There’s fear in his eye.

  Finally.

  The door rattles and opens. Spinning, I toss the gun to Abby, who already knows what’s up. Lilly, however, is in a haze, gawking at the fallen body of Hamlet.

  Abby snags the gun out of the air and shoots the first guard that comes in, Buzzcut. His rifle skitters through the blood, and Lilly snaps back to reality, picks it up.

  “Fuck!” the other guard says, and he’s running.

  “I got him!” Lilly yells and rushes out of the room.

  Abby looks at me for a beat, and I flick my head in Lilly’s direction—Follow her, you’re safer together. Abby tosses the gun back.

  This all happens in a span of three, maybe four seconds. It feels so much longer.

  The gun in my hand, I rush the Overlord and shove it in his colorless face, right in his good eye. He is weak, he is frightened. He is at my whim.

  Until he’s not.

  He pushes forward, causing me to stumble back. That surprising strength.

  I fumble the gun, thinking I’m going to drop it, but regain control.

  “Good job, Jack,” he says. “I didn’t see that coming. You’ve managed to surprise me. That’s a first, especially since you are so predictable.”

  “You’re dead, you son of a bitch.” I aim the gun at him again.

  “Oh, Jack, don’t you realize I’m not an idiot? You don’t get this far by being dumb.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I know I should shoot him. Just end it right now, but I want to see the asshole suffer.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he swipes the cup of pens and pencils away, where his hand was hovering earlier, revealing a small black button. He presses it.

  A screech hits my ears. Then the windows, the ones offering a view of the ruins of Woodhaven, are covered by iron bars. The door behind me seals shut with a thump. More bars.

  All the while, the Overlord is grinning his broken, yellow grin.

  “If I’m going to die, Jack, you’re going to die with me,” he says.

  The walls open, secret doors rising up, and out come his super zombies, three of them, their eyes burning with hunger and rage.

  Fifty

  First things first.

  I pull the trigger, and the bullet explodes forth. It takes the Overlord in his stomach.

  Nothing worse than being shot in the gut.

  He falls to his knees, blood pulsing from the wound. He clutches the burning, bleeding hole, but smiles the whole time.

  I hardly see him or the approaching zombies, because I’m seeing my wife and my son murdered. I’m seeing Haven burning. I’m seeing my brother stabbed by my own hands. Because of what? Because of this cretin in front of me.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” I tell him.

  The zombies close in. The room is not big, but they’re taking their time, perhaps confused.

  “It—it doesn’t matter, Jack. You have to realize that. None of this matters. You can kill me. Go right ahead. But I’ll live on. You won’t,” the Overlord says.

  A zombie reaches. The cold hand grips my shoulder. I spin and let loose one more round. These zombies don’t wear helmets.

  The slug blows away half of its head. It falls down, slowing up the other one. Quickly, I turn back around. I have no idea how many rounds I have
left. All I ask for is one more, one more for the Overlord. That’s it. That’s all.

  Because this is between the one-eyed bastard and me.

  “You’ve won the battle, but you’ve lost the war,” he says, and he begins laughing, blood spilling from his lips. “The District will never die.”

  “I don’t care.”

  A spark of momentary fear burns in the Overlord’s eye. I savor it as long as I can, but the zombies behind me are getting up, no longer confused.

  “You’ll die just to kill me?”

  “I will,” I say.

  And I pull the trigger. Not at the Overlord’s head. Not at his one good eye. Not at his heart—if he even has one.

  I aim at his throat. I want to hear him wheeze and gasp for breath.

  There is one more shot, it turns out, and it blows a hole in the Overlord’s neck as big as a saucer. He gasps with pain and surprise. The hands that grip his belly now find their way to this fresh wound. Blood pours and pulses. I hear the air wheezing from his esophagus.

  He is dying.

  “That’s for Darlene, my wife. That’s for Herbert Junior, my son. That’s for Norman Jupiter, my brother. That’s for Haven, my home. And that’s for all those you’ve hurt, all those you’ve killed, all the families you’ve torn apart,” I say.

  The Overlord leans his head back against the mahogany.

  And then he dies.

  I watch the light wink out of his eye, listen intently for the last rattle his body will ever make.

  No time to admire this, unfortunately, because another cold hand is grabbing me and turning me around.

  I am ready for death.

  Fifty-One

  The zombie’s strength is unmatched. I try to pull the trigger of the gun, but the slide kicks back. I’m out of ammunition. Maybe there’s more around here somewhere, but I don’t have time to look. Instead, I clobber the zombie’s face with the barrel of the pistol.