Dead or Alive

by William Harms

  Trane sloshed forward, stopping in front of John’s cell. The dim light cast the sheriff in shadow; he stood there, swaying slowly in his wet boots, water dripping off his hat. Trane unclipped the key chain that hung on his belt and stepped toward the door of John’s cell, his plump fingers finding the right key. “Gonna slice you open, boy.”

  John checked his grip on the bed leg. “Do you ever shut up?”

  Thunder clapped overheard and from outside came a long scream.

  Trane fumbled with the lock a moment, the key refusing to enter. It finally slid into place and the door swung open slowly, the rusted hinges moaning in protest. John backed up a step, the bed leg at the ready.

  Lightning flashed outside, its brilliance seeping into the jail for just a second, the white light illuminating the sheriff. John saw the huge hole in the side of Trane’s neck, his yellow eyes, the foam and blood dribbling from the sheriff’s smacking lips. Trane’s chest was covered with gore, and the smell of rotting flesh hit John like a sledgehammer.

  “Motherfuck…” John said.

  “So hungry,” Trane said, his greasy and bloodied hands reaching out. John swung the bed leg, striking the sheriff on the left side of his face. The blow shaved away Trane’s left cheek, blood oozing lazily from the wound. Trane paused for a second, his eyes burning with rage. “That wasn’t very nice. Not nice at all.”

  Trane lowered his head and charged. John stepped to the side, but the sheriff still struck him a glancing blow, knocking John to the hard clay floor of the cell. Trane lost his footing and rammed into the wall, cracking the wet adobe. John scrambled up, fighting to get to the open cell door, his bare feet slipping on the slick floor.

  John stumbled out of the cell and slammed the door shut behind him. Trane returned to his feet and walked slowly toward the locked iron door, white foam and blood dripping from his mouth and the wound on his face. John pulled the keys from the lock and ran over to Paul’s cell.

  Paul backed away from the bars as John fumbled through the keys. “Damn, what’s gotten into him? I can’t believe he’s still standing!”

  John found the correct key and slammed it into the lock, the tumblers protesting. “Fuck,” John said, beads of sweat running down his bare back.

  Trane grabbed the bars of the cell and shook them violently. “Gonna get you! Tear you limb from fucking limb! Tell me where that money is!”

  The door to Paul’s cell swung open and Paul stepped out, his eyes locked onto Trane’s grotesque body.

  The bars bent as Trane renewed his efforts. The sound of snapping metal echoed across the office. Trane made sucking sounds with his dry lips. He backed away from the bars and charged them, hitting them with the full weight and force of his body. The frame around the cell doors shook and dust drifted down from the ceiling.

  “Gonna eat your eyeballs!”

  John ran to the gun rack and grabbed a shotgun, checking it for ammunition. A second later Paul joined him, digging through the rifles, looking for another shotgun. After making sure the shotguns were loaded, the brothers each strapped on a pair of Colts.

  From behind them came a tremendous crash and Trane lurched out of the cell, the mangled metal of the bars falling away from him. Trane began to laugh, his voice moist and thick.

  “Fuck!” John turned and fired, unloading both barrels from the shotgun into the encroaching sheriff. Trane took both shots square in the chest and stumbled back, chunks of clothing and flesh and blood drifting in the air; the wall behind him was painted with the greasy gore. Paul raised his shotgun and fired and the blast tore away a chunk from Trane’s left side, the excess BBs ricocheting around the far side of the room.

  “That all you got?” Trane roared and ran toward the brothers. John dropped the shotgun and pulled out the Colt; in one smooth move he fired three quick rounds directly into Trane’s face. The sheriff stumbled forward another step and fell face-down, striking the floor with a loud smack. Smoke and the smell of burnt gunpowder and flesh hung in the air. Thunder threatened to tear the jail in half and rain beat against the roof.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Paul said.

  “No idea. We best get some more ammo and get the hell out of here.” The brothers turned and reloaded their shotguns and filled their pockets with extra rounds. John had planned on abandoning Paul right away, but that would have to wait. If the sheriff could take three direct shots to the chest, there was something going on here, something that John didn’t want to face on his own.

  Rain pummeled the roof of the jail and lightning flashed in cannon-like reports, filling the jail with bursts of white light. From the doorway came a soft giggle.

  John turned and looked at the source of the sound. Three figures struggled through the door, two men and a woman. The woman pushed her way past the two dead men, her lips smacking with hunger. All three were covered in blood and foam. The woman’s dress had been torn away and intestines dangled from a gaping cavity in her lower chest.

  “You look tasty,” she muttered, her bare feet dragging over the wet clay floor.

  John raised the shotgun and fired once. The woman’s head turned into red mush and bits of blood and bone peppered the two men behind her. The headless body crashed to the floor. Their eyes still locked on Paul and John, the two men stepped over the woman and continued their advance.

  Paul fired, hitting one of the men in the chest. The force of the shot spun the man around and he crashed into the wall behind him but did not go down. The dead man righted himself and resumed his march, ignoring the leaking hole in his chest.

  “Just one bite…” he said.

  Paul fired again and the man was cut in half. John stepped forward and fired off his second round, hitting in the other man square in the face. Blood seeped from the gaping wound and the man collapsed.

  The upper half of the first man still struggled forward, its fingers digging for purchase, tearing into the packed clay floor. The man’s mouth hung open and a pool of thick yellow saliva dripped from his lower jaw.

  Paul walked over to the torso, pressed the barrel of the shotgun against the man’s head, and fired. Paul turned to his brother. “This is crazy!”

  “We need to get out of here. Right now.”

  Paul shivered and looked down at the bottom half of the dead man. Paul stepped over a pool of blood and pulled off the man’s boots and socks. After putting on the socks, Paul pulled on the boots and turned to John. “Best see if that other fella’s boots fit you.”

  John walked over to the other man and took off his boots and tried them on. They were too small. John spit in disgust, stripped the corpse of its socks, and put them on. They were better than nothing.

  The brothers moved toward the door and looked out. The rain was coming down in black sheets. Out on the street, dark shapes grabbed a little girl and pulled her apart, shredding her dress in an effort to get to the soft flesh. Her screams echoed across the street and were drowned out only by the occasional clap of thunder. Up and down the street more figures shambled along, sloshing their way through the mud and water.

  “These people are insane,” John said. “They’re killing each other.”

  “Better them than us. We need to get some horses.”

  “The livery could be anywhere.”

  “We’ll just have to find it. We can’t stay here.” From a building across the street a man came flying through a plate-glass window. He struggled to his feet and fell back down, his boots unable to find traction on the slick wood. Several figures crashed through the door and fell upon him. The man raised one hand and then was torn apart, the rain washing his blood out onto the muddy road.

  “Let’s go,” John said.

  The brothers slogged their way through the thick mud, half-blinded by the driving rain. They managed to go about a half block before four dark shapes emerged in front of them, blocking the way.

  John raised his shotgun and fired. One of the figures dropped in a bloody heap. A second later it struggle
d back up, the rain washing away the mud and blood. “This isn’t good,” John muttered.

  More shapes filtered out onto the street and some fell into the mud, but most struggled forward. Off in the distance a woman’s scream suddenly ended. The street was silent except for the sound of the driving rain and the sucking sounds the mud made as the dead trudged through it.

  “Now what?” Paul asked.

  “We can’t stay here. Maybe we can find a horse or something--” A half-eaten hand sliced out of the rain-soaked darkness, knocking John to the ground. The figure loomed over John, its mouth chewing air in anticipation. Paul blew its head off with his shotgun.

  “C’mon,” he said as he helped John back to his feet. The figures closed in from all sides and several of them were laughing. The brothers held their guns at the ready, covering each other’s backs.

  John and Paul moved up onto the porch of large building. Paul’s boots were full of water and John was now barefoot, the socks claimed by the sticky mud. Rain and mud ran down their bare chests. The porch was smeared with blood and flesh and foam.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Paul said. He backed toward a window, his shotgun moving from one side to the other. There were so many people coming at them that it was going to be impossible to stop them all. Lightning flared overhead and the result was a bizarre snapshot in which John and Paul saw the entirety of the street for one blazing second, saw the mass of dead humanity marching toward them, saw the blood-covered faces and shredded innards, saw people gnawing on severed human limbs.

  “We need to keep moving. If we stay here we’re going to be trapped,” John said.

  There was a loud crash as the window behind Paul shattered. A huge man, his skin yellow with death, smashed his way through the crippled window frame, his enormous hands grabbing for Paul. Paul struggled to swing his shotgun around, but the brute knocked the weapon to one side and pulled Paul through the window.

  “Paul!” John ran toward the window as the slogging dead rushed him, their mouths drooling with hunger.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Samantha sat on the edge of her bed, vomiting blood. She started to dry heave and Esperanza pulled her back, laying her down on the bed. Darlene pressed a damp washcloth against Samantha’s forehead. Rain beat against the roof of the house and from outside came the sound of a banging barn door. The bedroom was a mess of soiled sheets and blood. Darlene coughed into a closed hand, ignoring the sharp pains shooting through her stomach and chest.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Darlene said. “We’ll get you to the doctor as soon as Jerry comes in.”

  “It burns so bad,” Samantha muttered, her mouth filling with reddish fluid. Her stomach seized and she lurched up, vomiting out a stream of blood and phlegm. Esperanza crossed herself.

  “She needs to make her peace with the Lord,” she said.

  Darlene glared at Esperanza and lovingly rubbed Samantha’s face. “Don’t you listen to her, Sam. The Doc will fix you right up.” Samantha coughed violently for a moment and then fell silent, her breathing coming in quick, short gasps. Darlene wrapped her arms around Samantha and rocked her. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

  Esperanza pulled off her rosary, wrapped it around one wrist, and went for a new washcloth, praying the entire way.

  #

  Lightning shot across the sky, a brilliant burst that illuminated the ground with a horrific pale glare. Jerry stumbled out of the large barn, the doors banging behind him, his bare feet slapping through the mud. His shirt was gone and his chest was smeared with greasy blood, the chest hairs stuck together in red clumps. He stopped for a moment and glared at the upstairs bedroom window, the light a blur through the pouring rain. With a grunt he stumbled toward the back door of his house.

  #

  Esperanza and Darlene struggled to hold Samantha down. The sick woman thrashed with wild abandon, her bloodshot eyes bulging out of their sockets, her tongue a swollen mass of black. White foam and yellow mucus ran out of her mouth and from her nose. Samantha began to pant, her mouth opening and closing, her lungs failing to collect any air. A moment later she crumpled to the bed and was still. Blood dribbled from her right ear.

  Darlene shook Samantha, slapped her across the face, but there was no response. Tears ran down Darlene’s face. She grabbed her friend by the shoulders and shook her. “No, Sam, you can’t be dead, you can’t!”

  Esperanza gently pushed Darlene aside, kissed her rosary, and placed it upon Samantha’s forehead. “Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”

  Darlene stared at her dead friend, her eyes blurred from crying. Her chest burned and she could feel a warm liquid rising up her throat. A sudden fear seized Darlene as she realized that she was sick with what had killed Samantha. She was going to die.

  The hall filled with sounds of pounding footsteps. Something crashed against the door, shaking the frame. Darlene wiped away the tears and looked at the bedroom door.

  There was another crash and the door burst open and Jerry stumbled in, soaked with rain and blood. The lantern lighting the room cast a yellow pale across his frame, and shadows floated in the shallow places of his face and stomach. Blood and foam dripped from his mouth and his chest was still. A tooth tumbled out of his mouth. His dead eyes burned with hunger and the room filled with the smell of rotting flesh.

  “Sweet meat,” he whispered.

  Esperanza stood up, her eyes wide with horror. She clutched the rosary, fingers instinctively feeling each individual bead. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  Jerry roared and lunged at Esperanza.

  He struck the Mexican woman in the chest and they bounced across the room, crashing into the dresser. Jerry grabbed Esperanza by the hair and pulled her head toward him, his teeth gnawing with anticipation. Esperanza scratched at Jerry’s face, tore away a chunk of yellowed flesh, and blood and pus oozed from the wound.

  “Help me!” Esperanza screamed. She jammed an elbow into the crook of Jerry’s neck and brought the rosary up, dangling the cross in front of the dead man’s face. The sign of Christ’s triumph over death had no effect.

  Darlene watched the struggle, her mind not understanding what was happening. Everything moved in slow motion. She slowly stood, fighting to keep her balance, white flashes dancing in front of her face. Why was Jerry doing this? What had gotten into that man? Didn’t he know that Samantha was sick and needed to be taken to see the doctor? A bit of white drool and blood leaked from Darlene’s mouth.

  Esperanza brought her right leg up, placing her knee on Jerry’s groin. With a supreme effort she pushed the filth-covered farmer away from her. Jerry stumbled back and tripped over the edge of the bed and crashed to the floor. Esperanza held the rosary out like a shield and made a move for the door.

  Samantha sat up. She looked at Darlene and smiled hungrily. “Darlene,” she said, her voice raspy and full.

  Darlene turned and looked at her dead friend. “S-Samantha? But…I thought…”

  Esperanza grabbed Darlene by the arm, pulling her toward the door. “We’ve got to get out of here!” She waved the cross at Samantha. “They’re demons! Demons from hell!”

  Darlene pulled her arm away from Esperanza and took a step toward Samantha, who was getting off the bed. Jerry rose from the floor.

  “Help me, dear,” Samantha said. “I’m so hungry.”

  Jerry lumbered forward, his black tongue licking his lips. “Gonna enjoy eating you bitches.”

  Esperanza grabbed Darlene and pulled her away from the dead, toward the door. Samantha and Jerry lurched after them. Once out of the room, Esperanza released Darlene’s arm; Darlene looked back, finally understanding the horror that was walking toward her.

  The women ran for the stairs, Esperanza leading the way. She hit the stairs running, taking them two, three at a time. Darlene followed, but her eyesight blurred
for a moment and she fell, tumbling to the bottom of the stairs. Halfway down, Darlene’s right leg hit at an odd angle and broke. The sound of the snapping bone echoed down the staircase.

  Jerry and Samantha stood at the top of the stairs, their teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness. Thunder shook the house.

  Esperanza grabbed Darlene and dragged her away from the stairs. Darlene held her right leg in pain. The stairs creaked as the dead descended.

  “Get up! Get up!” Esperanza yelled.

  Darlene struggled to rise from the floor, her crippled right leg hampering her efforts. Tears rolled down her face and a steady drizzle of foam and blood and mucus ran from her mouth. “Don’t let them get me!”

  The zombies were halfway down the stairs.

  Esperanza pulled Darlene through the living room, toward the front door. Lightning erupted outside, fully illuminating the interior of the house. Jerry and Samantha’s faces glowed with satanic hunger.

  Letting go of Darlene, Esperanza threw open the front door, the wind pulling it away from her, rain splashing across her face. She turned and grabbed Darlene’s arms and pulled her toward the open door, the rosary strung around her right hand. She looked down at the injured woman and saw the gore seeping from Darlene’s mouth, from her ears, from her nose. These were the same symptoms that had stricken Samantha. Whatever evil had seized the others had Darlene in its grip.

  The zombies were now at the bottom of the stairs and closing in fast.

  Esperanza’s arms ached from dragging Darlene, and she didn’t have the strength to pull her through the door. Jerry was nearly on top of them, grabbing for Darlene’s feet. She kicked at him. “Get away from me!”

  “You’re going to taste so sweet,” Jerry said.

  “Save some for me,” Samantha said as she caught up with Jerry. Her voice was wet and thick and the air was heavy with the smell of rotting flesh.

  Esperanza watched the monsters advance. She was too weakened to pull Darlene any further, and she knew that it would only be a few moments before Darlene succumbed and joined Samantha and Jerry in their fiendish pursuits. She dropped Darlene’s hands and backed away, out onto the front porch. “God forgive me,” she whispered as she fled.