“Jack,” Norm whispers. I turn to see him pointing at the end of the alley. A zombie has spotted us. It sways back and forth, bouncing off the sides of the buildings. It is missing an arm, the yellowish bone hangs from the stump. Its neck cricks back and forth as if he is a malfunctioning robot.
“I got it,” Norm says.
When Herb sees it, he shrieks out, and Herb is a big man, though he may not act like it. His shriek is earth-shaking. I shove a hand over his mouth, though I think it’s too late. His skin is somehow cold and clammy in this ridiculous heat.
I glance around the brick’s corner. The truck is stopped. Loudspeaker gets out of the driver’s side.
“Herbert Walker, this is your last chance!”
Herb makes a move, but I push him back against the bricks. It’s not hard. He doesn’t put up a fight. Behind me, I hear the squish of Norm dashing the zombie’s brains, then the corpse falling to the concrete.
“We will forgive you for your crimes of conspiracy. You will serve a small sentence. Nothing harsh. You will not be executed if you comply,” Loudspeaker continues.
I shake my head at Herb. “Don’t believe them,” I whisper. “Don’t believe a damn thing.”
I catch another’s voice. “More coming, boss,” a female says, then the microphone clicks off.
“Should we fight?” Norm asks.
I shake my head again. No, not yet. We can get out of this without bloodshed. There’s enough of that going around.
I jump as a horn blares. One, deep blast from the truck, then another. Feedback crackles from the speaker. The Eden man says, “All right, Herb, if that’s the way you want it to be.” The horn sounds again. “That’s right, come on, you grimy bastards,” he is saying. He’s not talking to us. I see Abby and Darlene staring at me with wide eyes. Loudspeaker holds something like a stick of dynamite in his hands. I’m about shit my pants. This crazy bastard is going to blow us all to hell. The first of the dead shamble through the intersection, their arms outstretched, their head nothing more than thin, gray skin pasted over a skull.
I am not relieved to find out it isn’t a stick of dynamite in Loudspeaker’s hands. He yanks the top part of the stick off and then strikes it against what looks like his fist. It’s now I realize what it actually is. It’s a flare, and bright, fiery sparks of red fly out of it. Loudspeaker throws it down the street, and this man must’ve been a professional quarterback because he almost makes it to the clock tower. It’s not a crazy far throw, but it’s a decent distance. It bounces off of the road, still shooting flames and sparks that are somehow brighter than the Florida sun.
“Oh, shit,” I say as the leading zombie turns his direction toward the flare and us beyond it. We have to go.
I wave Abby down despite her looking at me fiercely. I point behind me. “Let’s go,” I mouth.
She looks a little apprehensive, and Darlene is basically frozen to the ground, but Abby grabs her arm and pulls.
The two begin to move across the street, low to the ground.
A gunshot goes off. Bullets clobber the asphalt, digging up chunks of black rock and dust.
“Oh no oh no oh no,” Herb says behind me.
I hear a slap then Norm saying, “Get ahold of yourself and stop bleeding!” but it’s a distant echo because I’m already in the street, shielding Darlene and Abby from the bullets with my thin body. It is probably not the best idea, but what choice do I have? I cannot stand and watch them be cut down.
I won’t let that happen. I would rather die instead.
I push them, my fingers digging into their arms, not on purpose, and I spur them forward, then dive the rest of the way as more bullets whine off the sidewalk, and an entire brick is taken out of the corner of the building next to me.
The shots stop, and the snarls pound my eardrums. I don’t look again because I know what’s coming. It’s a wave of zombies. They have started to hunt in packs, started to roll through the towns and fields like ravaging tornadoes. They are hungry.
They are always hungry.
I don’t know the layout of this abandoned town called Sharon. I do know we have no choice but to run.
I take the lead, my hand gripping Darlene’s for dear life. Abby hands me the gun. Norm, her, and Herb are behind Darlene and I. We have two guns, but they are not good guns, though any gun is good in a zombie apocalypse, I guess. But in close quarters like this, something you have to reload is never a good thing. There are definitely more zombies than there are bullets between us.
We are heading back to the bar. cutting through another alley, weaving between piles of discarded trash that will never be picked up.
Two zombies block the end of the alley which spills out on Main Street. I raise my gun, the little Midnight Special, and blow their heads clean off. I don’t even see where I’m aiming as much as I feel where I’m aiming. I am no Jedi, I have no Force powers. I am just experienced.
I am Johnny Deadslayer.
The two zombies were once citizens of this town, I have no doubt. One wears a tattered skirt and a frilly, flowery blouse. She must’ve been the librarian or perhaps worked in the used book store across from the bar. The other is a man, the type of man you’d find working the nine-to-five at a factory then working his whiskey from five-to-one at the town watering hole. His beard is long, streaked with blood. I do this sometimes, give the zombies back stories, try to remember what their lives were like before they were mindless monsters, and sometimes its even more detailed, especially when I’m scared. Sometimes it helps, too, but other times it makes things worse. Harder. Darlene screams. Norm is grunting, pumping his legs, and Abby is cool and calm, dragging Herb along with us.
I hear the dead behind me, I don’t know how far, but that is enough to know I don’t have time to be scared. I have to protect my family, get us back to safety. Without my family, I am nothing. I am just another statistic, another loner who ate a bullet when things turned really bad.
I don’t want that.
I want to live.
The body of the military man who Norm shot is not in the same spot as he was when we left the bar.
He is there.
And here.
There, too.
It’s like the zombies tore him apart and took their meals to go.
Then, tires squeal. A cloud of smoke puffs from the back of the truck as it turn the corner on Main, mowing down a couple zombies in the process. The body of the truck jumps a bit as it does this, fishtails on the blood, then rights itself.
We are standing in the middle of the street.
Another horde is coming down at us from my right. Not enough as the one behind us, but enough to make running through any of these places an act of insanity.
We are surrounded.
Fuck. I’ve failed.
Failed my family.
Norm sees all of this before I do. He does that sometimes. He can scope out enemies, formations, he can read people, too — it’s quite a talent.
I know he sees this before I do because his gun is drawn. He fires three quick shots at the Army truck’s windshield. It is not going fast, but it is going and it is coming right for us.
The bullets whine off of the metal. One hits the glass. It doesn’t shatter and the driver, who I can only make out as a vague, helmet-wearing figure, doesn’t even flinch.
These are people who have their shit together, the types of people who used to read books on apocalypse prepping, who sat around the dinner table and talked zombie evacuation plans. The people everyone laughed at. Bulletproof glass. Armor. AR15s.
We are out of our element. Over-gunned. Outmatched.
Fucked.
Norm doesn’t bother to fire again.
He looks to me, our eyes reading each other’s thoughts almost perfectly. It was something we did as kids, lost for fifteen years since we have been apart, and now found again in this fucked-up world.
I am the first to lay my gun down and stick my hands up in the air. Norm is the sec
ond. The rest follow.
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice calm and steady, a perfect opposition to how I feel on the inside. Darlene whimpers. I look to her. Sweat is running down her forehead, tears from her eyes. “It’ll be okay,” I say, and she nods.
I step in front of Darlene, putting my body between her and the unspeakable evil that comes at us from all sides.
18
Loudspeaker gets out of the truck first. He is wearing a full-body camouflaged suit, boots and all. He does not have a beard like most of the people I’ve seen roaming this wasteland. This is man that not only accepts that the world has ended, but revels in it.
Two others get out of the cabin, and another from the truck bed. Four people in all. They all wear military outfits, too. One of them is a girl, but she’s muscular, wiry, not the type of girl who takes shit from people.
My group…well, we are a lousy bunch in comparison. For one, Loudspeaker’s group has weapons and cars, and it looks as if they’d had an honest-to-God meal every day, and a shower, too.
I should probably quit calling him Loudspeaker because he no longer has it in hand. Maybe I should call him Asshole or Military Douchebag.
“Ready, boys?” he asks his crew, leaning his head to one side and speaking over his shoulder.
“Sir, yes, sir!” they answer in unison. All of their voices sound exactly alike. I can’t even pick out the female’s.
“Fire!”
Just like that, I think as they raise their assault rifles.
Darlene lets out a little shriek. Herb hits the ground behind me.
Just like that. I don’t even get a chance to beg God for forgiveness. Blink, and you’re dead.
I close my eyes, expecting to be riddled with holes.
Rat-tata-tata-tata-tata…rat-tata-tata-tata.
I don’t fall to the ground like everyone else. I stand. I take it, tensing my body pointlessly in preparation of the bullets that will end my life.
The shooting stops.
I look down, expecting to see blood and smoking wounds.
Nothing.
I pat myself a few times, turn my head around and see everyone else is still alive. I want to fall on my knees and cry and thank God, but I don’t.
With the Jugheads’s arrival — Jugheads, that’s what I’ll call them now — I had forgotten about the ever-present threat of the zombies.
Now, that threat is gone.
I turn around to look at the dead who were slowly making their way to us. They are nothing but heaps of twisted meat, scalps peeled off, features distorted not only by rot but by bullets, too.
“Missed one,” Loudspeaker says.
“Got it, sir!” the female answers. She brings her assault rifle up, squints one almond-shaped eye, and looks down the sight. A shots bursts to my left and a zombie’s head goes with it.
“Fine shooting, Rockwell.”
“Thank you, sir!” she answers.
I also want to thank her, but I know that would be stupid.
“Great, now that is over, I’d like to have a proper interaction with you clowns, understood?” the man formerly known as Loudspeaker says.
None of us answer, we are just staring at him with fear, anger, hate, and misplaced gratitude on our faces.
“All right, not the most talkative bunch, I see. Well then, I am Butch Hazard, and seeing as how I just saved your asses, I’d think it’s fair enough for you to save mine.”
Again, we stay quiet.
Screw you, Butch Hazard. Screw you and your weapons and your soldiers.
Butch Hazard nods. “I see you ain’t a polite bunch, either. That’s okay. We can fix that, can’t we, soldiers?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” they answer again in unison.
“Put a bullet in the skinny blonde bitch’s head. I don’t care if you shoot that man in front of her, either,” Butch Hazard says.
What? No.
They raise their weapons just like they talk.
I break the silence. This has gone too far. I will rip each of their heads off before I let them harm the love of my life.
I don’t care if I die.
“Stop this,” I say.
“Oh, he talks, does he?” Butch Hazard says.
His ‘soldiers’ laugh together, sounding exactly alike.
“Good to know we ain’t dealing with muties here,” he says. “Now, let’s talk business.”
“We don’t want to do business,” I say. I would do business with the Devil before I did business with a bunch of jackasses holding us at gunpoint.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I answer back.
“No, there’s not,” Butch says. “Not when you’re staring down the barrel of five guns. I can make you think there’s a choice, sure, but I think we’re passed that, don’t you?”
“Oh, fuck off!” Abby says from my side. She is not hidden behind Norm. She is not afraid, at least not visibly. “This isn’t your world. This is no one’s world but the dead’s. You don’t make the rules.”
Butch Hazard starts to laugh. “‘No one’s world but the dead’s,’ I like that. Girl’s got a mouth on her,” he says, then tilts his head and gives her a wink. “But do you know how to use it the right way?”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I say.
Norm makes a move for his gun, but the clicking sounds of the rifles ring out, and he pauses.
“Listen,” Butch Hazard says. “I don’t want to shoot you, I really don’t, so let’s cut to the chase. You have something I want and we have something you want.”
“Yeah,” I say, “and what’s that?”
“We have your freedom, the ability to let you walk away from this situation without another scratch. The path is clear, the dead are dead, and you can get to safety before more arrive,” Butch says. “So you give us Herbert, and then we can all get on with our lives.” He smiles, a big, toothy grin.
“No,” I say, my mind made up. “I’ve seen what that place did to Herb. He doesn’t want to go back so he’s not going back. Simple. End of story.”
Darlene squeezes me. She’s not telling me I made the wrong choice. Darlene would support me if I said we all need to stop eating old junk food and start dining on the millions of zombies roaming around. No, she’s squeezing me because she’s scared. A natural reflex for fear.
I feel it, too. We all do. It hangs in the air like a heavy raincloud, ready to burst.
“That’s not how it works,” Butch says. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes. “Spike gets to say who comes and who goes. And Herbert was not on the list. Herbert belongs in Eden.”
“Herbert can do whatever he damn-well pleases,” I say, then look to Herb. He’s shaking, the large muscles beneath the layers of his flesh dancing. “Do you want to go with Mr. Butch Hazard, here, Herb?”
He shakes his head, slowly, deliberately.
“There,” I say, “the man has spoken. And last I heard, it was a free country.”
Butch Hazard walks closer to where we stand, but he is still a good twenty yards away. His fingers hook his belt loops, and he leans back and laughs.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he says, “this ain’t a country no more. Freedom’s gone. Now I’m a man of good morals, that much is true. I say my prayers every night, wash my hands before every meal, and kiss my wife goodbye whenever I leave our compound, so I’m all about freedom and free choice and countries and all that hippie bullshit. But don’t get me started on freedom. True freedom. I damn near died for the freedom of this country more than once.” He laughs as he pulls the collar of his shirt down, revealing a puckered scar that can be none other than a scarred over bullet wound. “This is just one, got a couple more on my back and thigh, but I’ll hope you take my word for it. So don’t talk to me about freedom.”
“I don’t want to go back,” Herb says. His voice is hardly a whisper. I barely hear it and I don’t think anyone else does.
“Now you don’t wa
nt the extinction of the human race on your hands, do you?” Butch Hazard asks me. His eyes drilling down into my soul. They are as black as onyx, as emotionless as a zombie.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Norm asks. He leans forward, his eyes narrowed. I know he’s fallen for the trap. Butch threw out the bait and he’s trying to hook us. I won’t fall for it. I know this shit is too deep to get out of. The human race is nothing but a dwindling flame. By next year, it’ll be a spark, and depending how you look at it, that spark that can easily blow out at the first strong breeze.
“I’m talking about Eden and I’m talking about Herbert Walker,” Butch says. “This dumb-looking bastard is the key to us beating these suckers. In Eden, we are doing something great. We are coming up with a cure. We are fixing this fuck-up.” He points to the dead on my left.
All I can think is bullshit. I wouldn’t believe anything this guy says.
“I’m not going!” Herb says, a repeat of his earlier sentiment, but this time his voice is louder. One of Butch’s soldiers breaks formation. It’s the slightest movement, but I see it, and I sense that Abby sees it too by the way she looks in the man’s direction.
“Oh ho ho,” Butch says, “look who learned how to speak up.”
“I don’t wanna work for him no longer,” Herb says. “I don’t wanna help.”
“Well, see, Herb, that’s the conundrum we’re in here. I do work for Spike, and I have my orders.”
Butch reaches behind his back, pulls a pistol free. Sunlight catches on the chrome, momentarily blinding me.
“My orders are simple. Bring Herb back, bring anyone who leaves the compound back, and kill whoever gets in our way if I have to. I’m gonna do just that,” Butch says, striding the rest of the way over to us.
I reach for the gun on the ground. Fuck this. I’m sick of listening to lies. Kill or be killed. Johnny Deadslayer.
“And I really don’t want you bleeding all over my truck, Herb,” Butch finishes.
He pulls the trigger of the pistol. A bullet strikes the road, taking a chunk of the yellow line with it, and sending my Midnight Special careening out of reach.
“Don’t be a hero, kid,” he says to me. “Take your girls and your friend here and get the hell out of Sharon before I have to kill you all.”
Jack Zombie (Book 2): Dead Hope Page 8