Jack Zombie (Book 2): Dead Hope

by Flint Maxwell

  I am wise enough to back up. Without a weapon, I am useless and Darlene is dead.

  Unfortunately, Norm is not as wise as me. He never has been. He’s a hothead…I think I’ve mentioned that before.

  He grabs his gun, drops to his knees, and rolls to the side. His gun goes off, missing Butch. It whines off of the truck’s bulletproof windshield. The soldiers raise there weapons and for a moment, I think I see their muzzles flashing and I think I hear the roars. But they don’t. Writer's imagination gone wild.

  They don’t have permission.

  This is Butch’s fight now.

  He raises his pistol.

  “Norm — ” but the bark of the gun cuts me off.

  It’s all in slow motion. The finger squeezing, the slide jerking back, the explosion from the barrel, and finally the bullet slicing through the air and burying itself into Norm’s leg. It hits him hard enough to drive him over the curb, where he lands among the dead zombies.

  I start to run toward him, but Darlene grabs me. We look at each other, and the look she gives me is one of defeat, her eyes drooping, mouth a thin line.

  “Next one is going in his skull,” Butch Hazard says. I am surprised at how steady his voice is. He looks at us, and a wave of rage grips me. I’m shaking, I feel the heat pulsing through my body. “Now, Herbert, let’s go.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re a man of morals, right?”

  Butch narrows his eyes at me, but there’s a smile on his face. He is in a jovial mood, I think. I doubt anyone ever opposes him.

  He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he points the pistol at me, and raises his other hand to the soldiers behind him. It’s a signal. I know this because they all raise their assault rifles. “When I’m on the clock, I’m anything I have to be,” he says.

  As I stare down the barrels of five guns, I realize I really need to start keeping my mouth shut.

  19

  Next thing I know, I’m on my knees, but I’m not begging for my life. There is only one gun aimed on me, and it’s Butch’s. He has waved his soldiers down, said, “No, I want to do this myself,” and here I am, shaking…with fear, with rage.

  Darlene is sobbing.

  “Ooh, Spike is gonna like you,” Butch says. “The mouthy one, too.”

  Abby grabs Darlene and pulls her away from me. But Darlene has a handful of my shirt, and she rips a piece of the fabric free.

  All my muscles tense. I feel like I am drowning, like I am in a nightmare and I’m trying to run but getting nowhere.

  Butch laughs.

  All this time, I’m not worrying about myself, about the bullet about to be lodged in my brain — that is, if Butch is feeling generous, but I doubt it, I’ll just wind up bleeding out like a stuck pig while the zombies follow the noise and devour me. I don’t care if that’s the case. All I care about is Darlene getting away, of Norm living through this, and Abby being able to grow up. She’s only nineteen.

  “I would’ve turned my back on this whole situation if you would’ve given me Herb.” Butch shakes his head. “Now, that would’ve been the wisest choice, my friends. If you went that route, I wouldn’t have to blow your heads off.”

  “Fuck you,” Norm says. He is weak, barely hanging on.

  Butch laughs again. “I love the fight, really. It’s admirable.”

  He look to me, stares down the sight. I am sweating. The gun is cool against my skin.

  “Any last words?”

  “Fuck you,” I say, echoing Norm.

  “Wrong answer.”

  I close my eyes, it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s more of a reflex. Preparation for my brains to be blown out.

  And a shot goes off, but it’s not as loud as I think.

  Then I hear screaming. A man screaming, but gurgling as well, as if a great monster is dragging him into the ocean’s depths.

  I open my eyes, my jaw drops at what I see.

  Butch Hazard is distracted. Everyone is.

  One of the soldiers, the one wearing sunglasses with a goatee, has dropped his assault rifle. He clutches at a burning hole in his throat. Blood spurts from between his fingers. The other soldiers watch him, their faces distorted with fear and confusion, but they won’t break rank anymore than they have.

  Another shot follows. This one is much closer, I can practically her the bullet whoosh by my head. A couple inches to the left and I’d be missing a chunk of my scalp. Butch jerks at the exact moment of the second shot.

  He’s good.

  He anticipated the bullet slamming into his chest, and by jerking, it only manages to clip his shoulder. There’s a small spray of blood then the slug thumping into the Army truck.

  I wish it would’ve hit him in the heart. Doesn’t matter. He is momentarily distracted. Now’s our chance.

  I turn to Darlene and grab her. Abby, helps me to my feet. “Go!” I say.

  We have a guardian angel. We can run and never look back.

  “What about you?” Abby says.

  “I got Norm.”

  She nods, and joins Herb into helping Darlene to her feet. They clear the street just as another shot hits the truck, dinging the metal, causing it to rock.

  Norm is crawling toward us, but it’s not easy-going with one hand clamped over his thigh.

  Another shot rings out.

  Another soldier falls.

  The others of Butch’s army have their assault rifles aimed, sweeping the town beyond. Not shooting because they don’t know where these shots are coming from.

  Butch doesn’t even look in our direction. He raises the hand up that holds his pistol to shield his eyes from sun. He has taken cover behind one of the open truck doors, peeking through the glass.

  Two more shots, and two more soldiers fall. All that is left is him and the female.

  I grab Norm around the waist, try to help him to his feet.

  “Hide all you want,” Butch bellows. “Or come down and face me like a man, you pussy!” He aims in the general direction of the shots and lets loose a couple of his own. Down the street is a couple of higher buildings. A perfect sniper’s nest.

  Norm and I make our way across the street. “Fuck,” he says. “I could use some of that booze.”

  “You better kill me now!” Butch screams. “If I find you I’m going to f — ”

  The female soldier finally breaks rank. She throws the truck’s door open just as a bullet hammers into the metal. Then she dives inside, taking cover behind the dashboard.

  Norm and I are almost to Abby when Butch shoots again. This time at me.

  All of a sudden my arm is on fire. It’s like something has bitten me, has clamped their big, serrated teeth around my forearm and won’t let go. My heart stops for a second as I think of a zombie using my forearm as a chew toy, but we are not by any zombies. We are in the middle of the street, and when I look down at the flaring pain, I don’t see a rotting skull. I see blood and a fresh bullet wound. The bullet came from Butch’s gun. The bastard has shot me.

  Darlene must see this, see me grabbing my arm like it’s about detach, because she breaks free from Abby’s grip and runs out to meet us halfway in the road like I had done no less than twenty minutes ago to shield her and Abby from this bastard Butch Hazard’s bullets.

  Butch Hazard is a blur. He moves across the street like a black cloud filled with lightning. Darlene is out of my hands before I can even fully grasp her. She screams.

  I scream.

  Then there’s a gun to her head and tears running down her face. “Jack!” she yells.

  “You want to shoot me, you’ll have to shoot both of us,” Butch says to the empty street.

  There is no gunshot.

  But my rage, the fireworks inside of my head, are loud enough to drown out any gun. I rush him, leaving Norm where he is.

  Butch holds the gun to Darlene’s temple, one arm tucked under her chin as if he’s putting her in a sleeper hold. She’s still screaming, but the sound is muted and choked out.


  I am about five feet away from them when I stop.

  “No, not any farther,” he says. “Fucking crazy bastard. You’re just as bad as the dead, all of you! Thinking this was gonna be an easy day, boy, am I — ”

  He’s cut off by a scream. It takes me a moment to realize the scream comes from his mouth. Darlene thrashes in his grip. I see her mouth gushing with red. Blood wells from little grooves in Butch’s Hazard’s flesh.

  “Fuckin bitch!” he screams, but he let’s go.

  The sun is blazing and the picture is crystal clear — Ultra HD. She has bitten him in the soft spot of skin between his index finger and his thumb on his left hand. I see it all. The pink tendons, a flash of white bone, and blood. Lots of blood.

  Darlene breaks free, and she’s smart enough to not run toward me this time. She takes off in the direction of Abby and Herbert.

  Norm is hobbling in that direction, leaving a trail of red behind as he does so. “Come on, Jack,” he says. “Let’s get the fuck — ”

  But the fireworks in my head don’t let him finish that sentence. The way I see Butch Hazard is the way I saw Freddy and Pat Huber, the way I see the millions of zombies who roam around and threaten my family each day.

  I see them as bullies.

  I don’t take shit from bullies anymore.

  I rush Butch Hazard. Me, a kid from the now deceased Woodhaven, Ohio, versus some crazy war general with a chip on his shoulder and murder in his eyes.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind.

  I start with a kick. It’s not a powerful kick by any means, but it doesn’t have to be. My booted foot clobbers his kneecap. Something snaps and crackles as Butch stumbles and falls to the concrete behind the truck’s open door. The gun scatters across the road. I follow it’s trajectory for a moment, then look back to Butch.

  Inside the truck, I hear whimpering. The female soldier is on the floor between the dashboard and the seats. Her gun is for the taking, and she is too scared and distracted.

  I reach for it, my hands barely brushing the metal as —

  Big mistake.

  Rage has caused me to underestimate my opponent.

  Butch Hazard grabs my ankle and he twists. Blood from his bite wound sprays in a mist, rotates with the turn. I hear a pop. Then I’m falling and eating asphalt. I hit the ground hard enough to make me wheeze. Ribs I hurt almost a year ago from my fall off the roof of the Woodhaven Rec Center burn with pain.

  Butch Hazard stands over me. I don’t know how he stands, but he does. His eyes bug out from his face, bloodshot, filled with rage and agony, a fire I’ve never seen in my life, nor do I want to ever see again.

  The pain in my arm, my shot arm, is burning something fierce.

  “You’re gonna have to kill me!” Butch shouts.

  I don’t know if he’s shouting at me.

  I’m hoping, praying, wishing for whoever is shooting from the buildings behind me to shoot one time.

  One more damn time.

  But sometimes, you got to do things on your own. You can’t wait for things to fix themselves.

  And if I’m going to die, I’m going to die fighting.

  20

  Both fortunately and unfortunately, my older brother won’t let me do it.

  Norm is on me before I can throw my last punch. He barrels into Butch Hazard. Butch is not a large man, he is just one that refuses to fall over.

  I pull myself up, getting ready to fight.

  We might both be shot, we might both be scared, and in Norm’s case, a little hungover, but Butch doesn’t stand a chance against the Jupiter brothers.

  That much I am sure.

  I get ready to rush at him when I see the glare of headlights. The remaining soldier is behind the wheel.

  The truck is coming right for us.

  Two shots ring out from a distance. Dead accurate shots. If the windshield wasn’t bulletproof, the woman would be missing most of her face.

  Everything is moving in slow motion. Darlene’s cries for me are warped and watery. Norm’s are not, pained shouts of war. Butch grunts.

  All the while, I wonder how I got myself into this situation.

  Slow motion off.

  Fast forward on.

  The truck flies down the road at what seems like a million miles per hour. I dive out of the way, leaving my brother behind. There’s no time to grab him and pull him with me.

  Butch swings, his fist connecting meatily with Norm’s face. My brother staggers, feigns a punch, then falls over. He is out cold. Butch Hazard has a mean right hook.

  The truck stops about two feet short from Norm’s head.

  Slow motion again.

  I am in a dream, pumping my legs as fast as I can, but getting nowhere. Each step I get closer to Norm, he gets farther and farther away until the truck is blocking my view. It whooshes in front of me so fast that I stumble and fall on my ass, half on the curb, half on the road. It’s painful now, and I barely feel it because of the adrenaline and fear pumping through my veins, but I’ll really feel it later.

  Fast forward.

  I hear the squeal of the tires, the distant snarls from the dead. Darlene behind me says my name over and over again. “Jack, Jack, Jack! Come on!”

  The door slams. I see a blur of a bloody face, but it belongs to a monster. The beaming sun hits me in the eyes. This monster is not a monster, it’s just a conglomeration of Butch and Norm. Butch has Norm over his shoulders. He dumps my older brother’s limp body into the truck’s cabin.

  Then they’re gone, the tires squealing, rifle shots chasing after them, thumping the metal, whining off the asphalt.

  No slow motion this time. Just me and the road. I spring up, hardly noticing the pain all over my body. My legs fire up the street, weaving in and out of dead and mutilated zombies, almost slipping in their blood and guts.

  But I am not fast enough.

  I stop, fall over, feeling my lungs burn, feeling my small dinner of peanuts and flat Coca-Cola threaten to come out of me. I look up at the taillights of the truck, see them getting smaller and smaller.

  I swear I see Norm’s hand, his bloody hand, smear the back window, and my heart breaks.

  It’s too late. I’ve failed.

  21

  Darlene’s small hands reach under my armpits, but she is too weak to lift me off of the road. It takes all three of them — Herb, Abby, and Darlene.

  I have lost one of the last anchors of my old life. My older brother who I grew up with, who I share my most fondest and most terrible memories with is now gone. This is my fault. All my fault.

  My family is like table legs. If you take one away, the table is no longer sturdy. It’s falling, no longer a table, no longer whole. I cannot face this dead world without my older brother. We will topple over without him.

  I can’t even stand up straight. I might be crying, I’m not sure. Something is stinging my eyes, either tears or sweat.

  “Norm,” I say, feeling the lump in my throat.

  “We gotta go,” Abby says. “They were shooting. They could — ”

  “They weren’t shooting at us. They were helping us,” I say. My voice sounds angry to my own ears, but I’m not the best judge. They all look at me like I’m crazy, and right at this moment, I feel fucking crazy.

  “Come on,” Darlene says.

  “No, we have to get Norm,” I say.

  “Not now,” Abby says. “You’re hurt and not in your right mind, Jack, but we will get him back. We will, I promise.”

  I’ve been shot. It’s this realization, this mental acceptance that I’ve been shot which brings the pain. Terrible bursts of pain. Have you ever been shot? It’s worse than anything a dentist can do to you with their tray of sharp torture tools, worse than any doctor with his colonoscopy kit.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” a voice says. It’s one I recognize, but not one I’d ever think of hearing again. I turn around and I am face to face with Tony Richards. His son is next to him. Tony carries the snipe
r rifle with its large scope, the same one I saw back on the farm. The gun hangs over his shoulders on straps.”I tried so damn hard to brain that son of a bitch,” he says.

  “If it wasn’t for you two, it could’ve been so much worse,” I say.

  Tony comes over and grips be on my good arm. “It’ll be okay,” he says.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Because we have him on our side,” Tony replies. He is pointing to Herb. Herb’s eyes go wide, his mouth works like he is trying to swallow his tongue. “Herb here is on the inside, I’m sure he told you. He knows all the inner workings of the compound, the secret tunnels, the schedules. Don’t you Herb?” Tony asks.

  Herb looks down at his feet, and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna go back,” he says. “Don’t make me — ”

  Darlene pats him. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t worry,” she says.

  “Herb knows it ain’t okay. Don’t sugarcoat it, darling. You don’t know Butch Hazard. He would’ve done worse than you could possibly imagine to you and yours, and he would just be the appetizer. The main course would be Spike, and he’d pull your teeth out one by one with dirty needle-nosed pliers, digging into the gums and all, not caring about how loud you scream. Then he’ll cut your fingers off. He likes that for some reason.”

  Darlene shakes her head, continues patting Herb.

  “You got off a lot easier than you think,” Brian says to Darlene. Then he looks at me. “Don’t think I haven’t lost people, too.”

  “Now, let’s get that wound cleaned up,” Tony says, squinting at the bloody mess on my arm.

  “We got a lot of medical shit back at the house,” Brian says. When he says this, I have another realization. This is a man who is barely a man. He might be eighteen or in his twenties, but under that scruffy, patchy beard, he is just a kid. His adult life will be short. All of our lives will be. Instead of banks and bills and groceries, date night with the missus, raising kids, and the whole nine yards, Brian Richards will be fighting zombies, running for his life, struggling for food. It’s a thought that saddens me. Abby is the same way. Her father will never walk her down the aisle, her mother will never help her pick out her wedding dress.