The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

by Dane Hatchell

  In his years of service, it was common for officers who shot or killed people to deal with stress issues. Hell, there were some that accidently shot themselves, or a police dog involved in the fight. Therapy was always recommended and sometimes it had been a requirement to return to work. Of course, this was something most cops laughed at. Even Rico remembered harassing a few of his buddies over it, but he wouldn’t act like that now. Now he understood the real need to open up and let true feelings out. He realized the only way to keep the demon seeds from growing were by being open and honest with himself and everyone else.

  The truck backfired again as it gained its distance.

  Rico had to focus on his hands to maintain the control of his bike—his mind shifted to the zombie Pop had battled and the bullet fired from his gun taking it down. Rico cut back on the throttle and drifted down to 60 mph.

  The truck soon pulled away. It was gone, and so was the memory.

  Now there was nothing but the open road and nowhere to be.

  Rico liked that feeling. With the road ahead, he hoped to replace those awful memories with the freedom of a better tomorrow.

  He may not find his destination in a day or a week, but one thing was certain. He knew that he would eventually find it.

  The sun gradually fell to the horizon glowing like a perfectly round piece of hot coal. The heat of the dry air and black asphalt gave way to the first fingers of the cool night air. The change in temperature soothed his sun drenched, wind burned skin.

  He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pants pocket. Curiosity got the better of him. He unbuttoned the pocket and fished out the phone. When he glanced down, he saw the number of the last person on Earth he’d ever want to speak to again.

  It was Mary Etta’s lawyer. He rolled his eyes and set his gaze back on the road. One chain still connected him to Killeen, and it pissed Rico off. He snorted like a bull about to charge, remembering the last time he got into it with that motherfucking prick. His hand tightened around the phone, and if he could have crushed it, he would have. The phone had stopped vibrating, but three seconds later, it started again. “Fuck you!” Rico screamed into the wind. He threw the phone in front of his Harley and tried to run over it with both tires. If I’m going to leave it all behind, I need to leave it all behind.

  Rico regretted the decision to toss his cell phone after riding a few miles down the highway, but it was too late to worry about that now. A new beginning for him would include a new phone and number, too. He felt even freer, as if the last chain holding him to the past had broken.

  He drove on, and the roar of his motorcycle echoed off the wall of mesquite trees lining the highway.

  By the time the sun set on the Texas asphalt of Highway 105, Rico was hours away from home.

  He wondered if he would ever see the city of Killeen again.

  Chapter 6

  The stars overhead twinkled like tiny diamonds sprinkled on black velvet by the time Rico decided to pull over and call it a day. He probably would have kept on keeping on, but the gas gauge on his bike dragged him back to reality. Cruising through the cool darkness under the wide Texas sky had an off-world effect. His headlight seemingly opened a wormhole through time and space. Although he knew he hadn’t left the planet, he wanted to view the world through new eyes, and not repeat mistakes of the past.

  Had his mind not been preoccupied with the thoughts of The Spook, among other things, he might have known where here was. All he remembered of his ride was the fact that he had stayed on the 105 strip for most of it, and turned down an interesting looking highway that looked recently repaved. The ride had been smoother, which only lulled him further into his musings. If he had to guess, he was most likely far south of Huntsville.

  It hadn’t been an exit ramp with signs to remind him to check his fuel that brought him to a stop. It was a four way intersection where a car to his right had arrived first. He waited for it to speed on and dropped his gaze to the fuel gauge. The needle pointed close to the negative range. Luckily, for him, there was a small gas station-diner combo and a motel just on down the road.

  As the car passed, two young boys in the backseat had their faces pressed against the window and waved. Rico raised a thumb up and blew the horn in two quick bursts. He remembered being that young, too, and having a fascination with motorcycles and their riders.

  He eased off the clutch and slowly made his way the short distance to the gas station. A sign by the road proclaimed they had the cheapest gas in town. From the looks of the place, that could either mean the fuel at the pump, or the gas a diner would experience after eating a meal there. Rico made sure to park at the pump that didn’t offer diesel. Usually, only a select number of fuel pumps would have diesel on the menu. Diesel owners were known to get irate over gas burners hogging the one or two pumps that dispensed the heavy fuel.

  At least someone inside was sure to be able to tell him where he was.

  He dropped the kickstand, stepped off the bike, and looked around. It was the first time he felt fatigue from his long ride. His hind parts felt a bit numb and the small of his back ached. He arched his back and walked in an irregular circle, trying to shake off the stiffness.

  On second thought, might not find out after all, he shrugged. The place looked like it might be closed. Some little towns in Texas were known for rolling up the sidewalks when the sun went down. Then again, maybe some of the florescent lights inside might just be burned out.

  The only part of the parking lot for the gas station-diner that was paved was the small square of cement that circled the two lone gas pumps out front. The rest of parking area was pretty much just dirt. Any rocks or shells that could have once covered it were now buried underneath the loose ground. Rico imagined a heavy wind could kick up one hell of a dust storm and fuck up this small island of civilization.

  He pulled out his credit card from his wallet, but at first glance realized there was nowhere to swipe the plastic on the gas pump. He would have to go inside and pay first.

  The gas station was small despite the fact that it stuck out like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey among the desolate asphalt of the highway. The yellow sign above the store read ‘Ducky’s Diner and Grocery.’ A tacky illustration of an alligator with jaws open hung to the right of the building’s name. Even in the darkness of night, Rico could tell by moonlight that the sun faded, yellow sign was very old and had probably been a bright masterpiece quite some time ago. Now it was just a crusted dilapidation of ironically negligent marketing.

  Rico shook his head, stuffing his card back into his wallet and thumbing a few bills. A gator on a sign with the word duck for the name? I wonder who had that bright idea?

  Dirt kicked up around Rico’s feet as he briskly walked the length of the parking lot toward the store.

  He looked toward the seedy motel across the street and considered staying for the night. Amenities were the least of his concern, but cleanliness was a must. No bugs either. He might be a big, strong policeman, but he had no tolerance for spiders and roaches. The thought of a hot shower and a comfortable place to lie down made him feel all the more road weary.

  The motel at least showed signs of life. A few cars and trucks lined up in front, parked as if the valet might have been drunk. Rico chuckled at his own joke, the thought of a place like that having a valet! One thing for sure, none of the Texas royalty would stay in a dump like that. Governor George P. Bush would probably sleep in his limo rather than lay his head down here. He wondered if any of the vehicles in the lot had been manufactured in this century. Time and Texas sun had beat up the paint pretty bad. No amount of compounding and waxing would ever breathe life back into these paint jobs. At least there were a few lights on in the motel, and as Rico got closer, he was relieved to see a person standing behind the counter inside the gas station.

  He swung the door open and felt something sticky on his fingers. When it closed behind him, a duck quacked, clearly announcing his arrival to the clerk. I
t’s time to get off the phone, or quit picking your nose. You’ve got a customer, Rico thought, and looked for something to wipe his hand with.

  “Welcome to Ducky’s,” the man behind the counter proclaimed with a southern accent thicker than any Rico had ever heard before. “What can I do ya fer?”

  Rico nodded, hopeful that his Texas drawl wasn’t quite that heavy. “Need to fill up. Do you take credit cards?” He grabbed a napkin by the coffee machine and wiped his hands.

  “We sure as shoe shine summer don’t, mister.” The man smiled, showing a row of missing front teeth. “Shucks, you must not be from around here.”

  “What gave it away?” Rico said as he reached the counter.

  “Hadn’t seen ya around these parts before. I never do forget a face.”

  “Is that so?” Rico said, forcing his rude stare away from the missing teeth and scanning the diner’s selection of hot foods. “Not much of a diner is it?”

  “Whatta ya mean, mister?” the man’s smile melted a bit.

  “Nothing,” Rico said, eyeing the meager selections beside the counter.

  To call this a gas station-diner combo was a bit of an overstatement. The place had all the things any normal gas station would have. Beer, soft drinks, junk food, overpriced engine oil, a microwave with rotating hotdogs, and a cheese dispenser for nachos. You name it, they had it. Nevertheless, as far as diners go, this place earned a major fail rating. Yes, there were a few small tables with a couple of chairs off to one side of the room. But the food selection was confined to a space beside the counter no bigger than a bathtub. A variety of heartburn central dishes baked under heat lamps behind glass. The corn dogs appeared to be the only appealing thing available. Everything else had probably been sizzling under the heat lamps since some time that early morning.

  Rico sighed. “Okay, give me four corndogs and . . .” Rico hesitated, distracted by a flashing Shiner Bock sign. “What kind of beer do you have?”

  “What kind of beer you want? We got all kinds. You know, Miller, Coors, Bud, and Shiner Bock.”

  Rico looked over his shoulder toward the coolers and took a deep breath. He had stopped drinking to show he was in control over his life. He met his objective and proved to himself that he could do it. The trip to Pop’s had him thinking he could let loose a little, enjoy the simple pleasures again. But, maybe it was too soon—maybe head on down the road a ways before he would start drinking again. “You know what? Let’s just make it a soda. And charge me for three gallons of regular. The Harley won’t hold much more than that.”

  “That ain’t no problem, mister.” The toothless man started smashing his dirty fingers against a battered plastic calculator that had just as many missing buttons has he did teeth. “That’ll be twenty-one dollars and thirty one cent.”

  “Looks like you need to get a new calculator there,” Rico looked up and read the clerk’s nametag, “Kevin.”

  “Well, all be. How’d you know my name?”

  Rico tapped his forehead with his index finger and closed one eye.

  Kevin the cashier looked at Rico like he had just walked on water.

  Rico handed him the money and waited for change. “So, you know if that motel is still taking in guests this late? I think I might be ready to call it a night.”

  “Sure are. Miss Tammy is the night manager. She’s over at the office. She can get you all set up and what not.”

  “Prices reasonable?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, mister. I don’t stay there or nothin’.” Kevin broke out into a violent coughing fit.

  “No, I suppose you don’t.” Rico stepped back, waiting for the coughing to subside.

  It took a few minutes for the clerk to regain his composure. Kevin made change and handed it off without counting it back. “Don’t forget your drink. I set you up on pump 1.”

  Rico nodded. After retrieving a Sprite and his heartburn hotdogs on a stick, he went outside.

  “Leave it to good old Kevin to put me on the wrong pump,” he grumbled under his breath. He had to move the bike back to the next pump.

  A night bird sang in the distance while he pumped gas into his thirsty machine. A full moon hung down the end of the highway, beckoning him to follow. He wondered where it might lead. Surely somewhere far away. Somewhere with potential beyond the measure of Kevin the toothless, calculator smashing genius.

  Somewhere away from that cough.

  *

  The Western Winds Motel didn’t have a flashing neon sign out front inviting tired travelers to rest there for the night. Instead, a dilapidated painted sign relied on colored flood lamps to lure guests in. No pool available for the kids. It just wasn’t that kind of establishment. Rico doubted anyone ever stayed here more than one night.

  The office door had a vacancy sticker in large yellow letters plastered across the front. Rico opened it to the smell of stale cigarettes and formaldehyde from particleboard. The place was a relic of the 50s. The carpet was well worn and it wouldn’t have surprised him if it had been there since original construction. This would make the Guinness Book of World Records for crappiest motel in Texas, he thought. If he’d been traveling with a tent, he might rather bunk down in it instead. But, there would be no hot shower, and no soft bed. God, he hoped they had soft, clean beds.

  What Kevin at the gas station called an office was nothing more than a 4 X 6 room. It reminded Rico of the bathroom at his house where he grew up, minus the toilet and sink. The woman behind the counter didn’t bother to look up as he stepped in. It had to be the infamous Miss Tammy that Coughing Kevin spoke of. She was too engrossed in paperwork to notice he had walked in.

  “Uh, excuse me, ma’am.” Rico used his soft, polite voice. “Mrs. Tammy?”

  “Yeah, you want a room?” She didn’t bother looking up from her task.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just be staying for the night. How much for a room?”

  She lifted her head and glanced his way. An angry black mole poked from her left cheek just under her way-too-long salt and pepper hair. “Twenty-five dollars cash. Cost you more if you use a card.”

  Twenty-five dollars was awfully cheap—even for a shithole. He hoped she hadn’t misunderstood him and thought he wanted to rent the room by the hour. This place looked like the perfect place for hooker activity. “How much for your best room? One with a nice clean bed, the bigger bed the better.”

  “Twenty-five dollars, I done told you. All rooms are the same. You stayin’ or not?”

  Rico hesitated.

  “We got cable. No porn though.”

  “And the bed . . . .”

  “Bed’s clean. Heck, mister, soap and water ain’t that expensive. This place might be old, but we keep it up.”

  “In that case,” Rico whipped out his wallet and fished for a twenty and a five, “I’m in.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Miss Tammy abandoned the pen in her hand and opened a drawer. She began to rummage through it. “Now, I know I put them keys somewhere. I had ’em just last month when we cleaned them rooms.”

  “Uh, you haven’t cleaned the room since last month?”

  “It ain’t like that. We clean all the rooms every month. Ain’t nobody stayed in the one I’m putting you in since it was cleaned last month.”

  Rico rolled his eyes, what have I gotten myself into, he thought. Miss. Tammy was too busy looking for the room key to notice his conflict. He killed some time by gazing around. The large pictures on the wall made the small space seem even more cramped. One, though, had his interest, a poster of the state of Texas framed in varnished wood. A red thumbtack with, ‘You are here’ written in black sharpie marked the motel’s location.

  Well, at least that answers that, he thought while still waiting on Miss Tammy to find the room key she was after. The Western Winds Motel was south of Huntsville, just outside of Brooksville. Mr. Hunts’ namesake was a thriving metropolis compared to Mr. Brooks’.

  Small metal objects clinked and tinkled from inside th
e drawer as the old woman continued the diligent search.

  He studied the map a little more, wondering where he might end up this time tomorrow. The image of a boat crossed his mind, but before the thought could fully form, Tammy popped it like a bubble with her sharply tinged voice.

  “Found it.”

  “Good.” Rico smiled, looking her in the eyes.

  Miss Tammy peered back, and for a brief moment, Rico wondered what those tired old eyes had seen in her time. There was a gleam in them that gave him the sense she possessed ancient wisdom. Like she could see his life as a story and she knew how it ended—a Shaman of sorts.

  The image he had of her grand stature in the universe came to a crashing end when she smiled.

  Rico grimaced, despite his best effort not too. He had to question if this county had ever learned the science behind adding fluoride to the drinking water.

  This time, she did notice his disapproval, because her lips quickly dropped back down around her horribly yellowed, crooked teeth and swollen gum line.

  The basic pleasantries had run its course. It was back to the business at hand. She needed the money. He needed a room. They both nodded at one another as if understanding they were worlds apart in daily life and the only connection they would make was this transaction. Rico offered a conciliatory smile as she handed him the key. After a few seconds of awkward silence, the simple gesture bought him a reprieve. She smiled back, having the wherewithal to keep her lips together.

  “Room 116, right?” Rico held up the key.

  “Says so on the key. Room’s second to last out front near the end.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “Have a good night’s…,” Miss Tammy coughed, “rest.”

  Rico turned and made a quick exit, hoping to outrun whatever germs spewed into the air. Just as he opened the door of the cramped office space, Miss Tammy called out.

  “There’s an ice bucket in the room and plastic cups. Just around the corner is the ice machine. Got a soda machine, too. The man just filled it up today.”