Chris started, looked at him, and then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“Your hand’s shakin’ like fucking crazy, man,” Phil said, pointed at it. “And you’re sweatin’. You coming down off a few hard nights?”
“Just the cold.”
“People usually sweat when it’s cold,” Phil told him, dead pan.
Chris started to say something when the coms crackled to life.
Sam’s voice said, “Have you boys had your fun down there yet?”
“Roger,” Chris said. “Coming up now.”
“You might want to hurry. Looks like we have a ride.”
Eighteen
“Why in the name of the Virgin Mary’s sweet ass would I send a rescue mission?” Warden Bowers asked the microphone. “No one ever said you needed one.”
“It all happened so fast, I never got a chance to,” Sam’s voice came over the speaker.
The Warden sighed. “What’s the situation?” he asked.
“We’re trapped in the sheriff’s office.”
“Define ‘trapped.’”
“We’re locked in with about a thousand creepers outside.”
Bowers set the microphone down, leaned against the wall, and stroked his belly a moment. Then snatched it back up and said, “Casualties?”
“Lost two. Thompson and Stockton.” There was a pause, then: “Craig put Stockton down.”
The Warden sighed again. “Can you make it through the night?” he asked.
“If we can make it to the gun store, we’ve got a shot. Its got bars on the windows, but I think I remember the doors being fucked when we drove past. We’ll have to chance it. The doors and windows here are about to go. This place was never meant to be closed.”
“Copy.”
“But I don’t see how we’ll get there, and if we do, how we’ll fortify it. The sheriff didn’t leave us shit for munitions. We’ll need what they have at the gun store.”
“Got it. Just make it through the night, and in the morning, in daylight, check the town and get back.”
“Sir,” Sam’s voice pleaded over the coms system. “There’s not going to be anything in those houses but creepers. I’m telling you: it’s the whole damned town.”
“I don’t care,” Bowers growled. “I sent Chris with a list. I want every name and every address on that list checked off. And I want the personal items from my home. Understood?”
Another pause.
“Understood?” Bowers asked again.
“Copy.”
Warden Bowers rolled his shoulders and thought a moment. “Out of curiosity,” he said. “Why’d you think I sent a rescue mission?”
There was a flurry of static, then: “…thought I saw headlights a minute ago.”
Bowers smiled. “That’s why we’re checking the town.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if they weren’t ours,” he explained, “whose headlights were they?”
Nineteen
Maurice pulled the truck back into the lot and poured out. He hit the bed first. Got the thing out and started trying to get it on. There were zippers fucking everywhere, and the fabric didn’t like moving.
He got the lower half about right, the snow now about an inch thick, then struggled with the upper half. It was bulky as hell, but he figured he’d get used to it.
The creatures that weren’t already pressed against the sheriff’s office had mostly lost interest. There hadn’t been gunfire from it in… Maurice didn’t know, he had been driving.
A quick check told him the office was still surrounded, but stragglers were milling around his building, as well. A few had seen him already and were moving at a quickening pace toward him.
He wouldn’t be any good with the bat in the suit, so he didn’t even try. Instead he unwrapped item number one. The packaging was a bitch. They had sealed each part separately, and then all together. Every time he looked up from the wrapping, the damn things were closer by a few yards. They’d be on him in less than a minute.
He finally got the tube unwrapped and dropped it in the bed. Took item number two and cut the plastic tie that held them together. Slipped them onto his hands. Slid the last piece across the bed and attached the hose. Turned the knob.
Then, he took out his Zippo. Pulled off the left glove with his teeth. Flicked the small lighter and set it on the edge of the truck bed. The flame burning casually in the cold. With his ungloved left hand, he reached across and turned the valve on the tube until it was all the way open. Until he could hear gas moving through the hose.
He put the glove back on. Took the weapon up in both hands – one holding each half – and pointed it at the Zippo. Hit the nozzle with his heavily gloved thumb.
The gas hissed out and the sound turned to a roar as the propane hit the flame and ignited the tongue on his brand new flame thrower.
Twenty
Phil pushed the drunk into Brooks’ large chest and said, “We checked ‘em both. Chris wanted to do a cavity search but I told him we didn’t have time,” dead pan.
“He’s fucking with you,” Chris explained to Sam, his arm muscles spasming as he pushed the junky. “But we did check them stem to sternum.”
“Fine,” Sam said, nodded. “We need to move. Gun shop’s our last hope to make it through the night.”
“Gun shop? I thought they had an arsenal here.”
Brooks laughed. “Fucking nothing here,” he said.
“They must have cleaned it out when the morgue went,” Sam told the two. “We barely got shit, and even that isn’t much. But the gun store should be fully loaded, plus they have bars on the windows and most likely a security door we can draw down.”
“We’re at the sheriff’s office,” Chris reminded them. “Why would a gun store be better protected?”
“Because people rob gun stores, Chris. The sheriff’s station doesn’t close, and the robbers try to stay away from it.”
“True that,” Phil said, nodded.
“Okay,” Chris said, “how in the burning gates of hell do we get there?”
Sam shrugged. “How much ammo you got?”
“Jack shit,” Phil told him.
“Because he wastes it like he’s getting paid to.”
“Top notch, swinging dick, zombie killer,” Phil explained. “I do my job.”
“You didn’t just kill fucking zombies,” Chris reminded him.
“Your hands are at it again,” Phil told Chris.
Chris held them together and they stopped shaking. As bad.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sam spat. “Neither of you are even involved in the discussion. We’re moving out. We’ll dispense ammunition equally. But if any of us runs out, their ass is forfeit.” He looked at Phil as he said it. Phil shrugged. “So keep a fucking lid on it,” Sam continued. “We don’t even have to make it a mile.”
Phil squinted over Sam’s shoulder.
“We get there, we should be able to hold up until morning,” Sam explained.
Phil took a few steps right, studying the spot next to Sam. His head cocked to the side. Watching.
“Chris,” Sam asked, “where’s the list Bowers gave you?”
“In my pocket,” Chris told him.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Hey guys,” Phil said, cocking his head the other way.
“Give it to me,” Sam repeated.
“No,” Chris said, recoiled. “Warden said I take care of it personally. Warden’s the man.”
“Warden’s not here. Give me the fucking list.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey guys,” Phil said again, walking slowly towards the window.
Sam took out his pistol and leveled it at Chris. “Give me the fucking list,” he said again.
“No.”
Sam cocked the hammer. Curled his finger over the trigger.
“What’s the problem?” Brooks asked.
“Hey guys,” Phil again, pressed against
the window now. His nose touching it. His head moving from one angle to another studying what was beyond the glass. Past the zombies.
“Warden gave me direct orders,” Chris said. “You want that list, you’ll have to have him tell me to give it to you.”
“If the Warden says he keeps it,” Brooks told Sam, “he’s supposed to keep it.”
“The. Warden. Isn’t. Here,” Sam said slowly. “I’m the man on the ground, on location, and I need that list.”
“Hey, assholes!” Phil called. “I think you’re gonna wanna see this.”
Twenty-One
“Well?” Jessie asked Mercedes.
“Well, what?” Mercedes said back, standing by the sink in their cell.
“Are you going to admit I was right?”
Mercedes sighed and turned to her. “About what?” she asked.
“About Gibbs.” Jessie touched a brush to her canvas and swirled it, not looking at her cell mate.
“What? That he’s cute?”
Jessie nodded. Set the brush down and picked up another.
“I don’t know if you noticed,” Mercedes told her, “but his friend seems to be a bit into you.”
Jessie laughed. “You caught that, huh? ‘I can be your hero.’”
“If anything, I think he’s the cute one. It’s nice to find a guy who’s not a complete fuck stick.”
“Actually,” Jessie said, “that’s exactly what I’m looking for.” She touched the new brush to the canvas and moved it a bit, then set it back down and took up a third.
“Ha, ha.”
“So, it’s perfect. You take Tall Sam what’s-his-name and I’ll take the fallen, wounded hero. Win-win.”
Mercedes sighed again. “Not until the Warden opens up the gate – oh, and the locks – and tells us all we can have a fucking slumber party, is that ever going to happen.”
Jessie looked at her sideways. “Wait a minute,” she said, turning to her, “you do think he’s cute!”
“Hell, no.”
“Hell, yes. You think that big old man arrested you is kinda sexy. Just a tad. Huh?”
“Not even a drop.”
Jessie set her brush down and stared at her. “So, if the two of you were in a cell together, you know, just the two of you…”
“I’d kill him,” Mercedes told her, and meant it.
Twenty-Two
Maurice thumbed the lever. The flame roared forward, engulfing the two creatures coming up on him. Their hair and clothing caught, and they let out animalistic shrieks of pain. But they kept coming. He hit them again. Longer this time. Held it on them until they sagged to the ground, silent, save for the popping sound of fat melting.
He nodded and started the long walk to the sheriff’s office. The sound of the dying zombies was attracting others. He wasn’t planning on waiting for them. He marched forward, propane tank in his left hand, flame thrower in his right.
It took a minute for the first wave to get within range. He hit the lever and the fire poured out, lighting everything it touched. He raked them with it, first fast, and then slower, cooking them in place.
Stepped over the charred bodies and lit the next batch.
And again.
And again.
The night filling with thick black smoke, mixing with the falling snow. The white powder turned black around each smoking husk.
He kicked the burnt remains of one of them on the shoulder and watched it separate, smoke rolling out from its insides.
He was getting closer now, but the mass at the office was shedding as more broke off their attempt to break in and went after him.
Three more were to his right. He lit them up and turned his attention to the two on his left. Flamed them with a quick burst and then turned back to the right. Held his torch on them – screams and sizzles and peeling flesh – and then was back on the others as the ones on the right fell.
They went down. He moved on.
Closer now. More and more of them coming his way.
Coming from every direction. Converging.
He felt pressure on his right arm and looked down. What had once been a middle-aged man had Maurice’s upper arm in its jaws. It was gnawing, trying to break through. He ignored it and held the flame thrower all the way open.
Started turning in a slow circle.
The thing on his arm released and tried for his face. Maurice elbowed it, turned and hit it from two feet away with the full power of fire. It blew back and then melted under the blaze.
Maurice began turning again, igniting newcomers who had taken the place of the fallen.
Hundreds of them. Pressing closer. Getting closer. Inch by inch, over the ashen bodies of the burned. He couldn’t get any closer to the sheriff’s office. He hadn’t thought this out as clearly as he had imagined, he realized. Any moment now one would leap from behind and take his damn head off.
He heard a gun shot and turned and watched as one of the creature’s head exploded.
Twenty-Three
“Fun fact,” Phil said, “I have never seen that before.”
“I think it’s fair to say none of us have,” Chris agreed, holding his hands together behind his back.
“Alright,” Sam paced, “so we know he’s original. What else do we know?”
“We know he’s out there with a fucking flame thrower, killing creepers,” Brooks told them.
“And that’s enough for me,” Phil said. Motioned to Bryce and the guy tossed him a handful of magazines. “What do we have for ammo?”
“Shit,” Sam said.
“Got that part. What have we got?”
“About a thousand.”
“Everyone aim high. We’re heading for the gun store?”
Sam nodded.
“Then, what are we waiting for? In the immortal… well, yeah, he’s probably dead as shit now, but his words live on… words of Eminem: ‘You only get one shot.’”
Sam glared at him.
“I mean,” Phil said somberly, “what are your orders, sir?”
Sam nodded. Took a few steps back, picked up his rifle, and said, “Everyone ready?”
No one answered. He nodded to Brooks to open the door anyway.
Twenty-Four
“I’ve been thinking,” Tall Bill told Erin.
“Stop,” Erin said.
“No, seriously.”
Erin sat up in his bunk and sighed. He’d been thinking too, but he didn’t want to think about it. “Yes?” he said.
“What does this all mean?”
“What does what all mean?”
“What we saw today, what we’ve been hearing and what we know to be true.”
“What about it? We saw a couple hundred dead bodies outside,” Erin explained. “Guards said they’re zombies. ‘Creepers.’ We had to clear them off. What’s it supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Bill said, and thought a moment, “does that mean the world is over?”
“Of course not. We’re still sitting here. If the world was over, no one would be here.”
“That’s not what I meant. Whenever someone says ‘the end of the world’ I always get annoyed. The world isn’t going to end until long after we’re gone. No matter what. The only thing that could end the world is something massive and cosmic, like the sun expanding, eating us and then dying. That’s not going to happen for a long ass time.”
“I get the feeling this is leading to a larger point,” Erin said.
“No one means the world ends. They mean our world ends.”
“Fine, and?”
“Well, if you consider TV and internet and McDonalds to be the world, I would say it probably ended.”
Erin thought about that. “So?” he asked. “What if it did?”
Bill shrugged. “Well,” he said. “I don’t know. If the world is over and a new one is on its way, what does that mean for us?”
“It means we’re still locked in a fucking cage.”
“But for how long? The old world put me in h
ere. Who’s to say what I did before is still a crime in this new world? And how many people are in it?”
“Not many.”
“Enough to keep so many in prison?”
Erin sighed and lay back down. “Jesus, Bill,” he said, “just tell me what you’re getting at.”
“It’s about you wanting out to look for your family.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“What I’m thinking is: just for right now, until this new world is born, maybe we’re safer in here.”
Twenty-Five
The night lit up with the sound of automatic rifle fire and the flashes of muzzles and tracers arching through the snow-filled air.
Chris made the trucks first at a dead run. He was barely even firing. Just running for his life. Got the door open. Key in. Fired it up. Opened the door for Sam, who leapt in. Phil stopped and fired off a volley, shredding three nuns. Blood spattering and bones chipping and being exposed as the bullets tore through them. Then put his left hand on the truck and vaulted into the bed.
Chris looked back and saw Brooks tucking his large frame into another truck, Bryce in the driver’s seat. Two others to the third truck. The last man jumped in the forth with the prisoners from the holding cells.
Headlights erupted, shining bright on the thin crowd of creepers dispersing from the office and crowding around the man in the street.
Chris gunned it.
He heard the chatter of Phil’s rifle above his head, checked the rear view mirror and could see the man’s legs as he stood in the bed, firing and shouting.
They aimed straight for the man with the torch, plowing creepers with the nose of the truck, their bodies grinding under the tires. Chris cut the wheel at the last moment, missing the man and pulling up just ahead of him. Stuck his rifle out the window and opened up on full auto. Raking the creepers with murderous fire. Cutting them down in waves.
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