Dead Lost

by Flint Maxwell

  “There’s your freebie,” I say. “The next one that gets that close, well, I’m going to let it take a hearty bite.”

  I know. I’m sick. I’m sadistic. Guilt turns my skin icy and I hate myself, but then I look at Brandon’s face and I see what sick and sadistic truly is.

  “So, Brandon, tell me more.” I make a show of looking relaxed. I’m anything but relaxed.

  “I told you all I know!” he says. “He’s in Ohio. There’s a place he found through one of his visions! It’s called Leering.”

  Before he’s finished his sentence, my stomach drops lower than ever. I didn’t think it was possible. Leering Research Facility, now there’s truly a blast from the past, and it’s right on the edge of my old hometown.

  It’s times like these that I think life truly is one big circle. We always end up back where we started.

  We shall see, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that it’s affirmative.

  Brandon stares at me, waiting for me to set him free. I believe him because he’s scared to death. I can see it in his eyes, in his pale face. It’s funny, really, how men turn to mice when they’re stripped of their weapons and tied to a tree as zombie bait.

  I’ve got all I need to know. It’s not like the one-eyed man is hiding. I know exactly where Leering is—or was. Last I heard, it had burned down. I wonder in the six months I’d been on the road since I’d last been in Woodhaven if some shady organization like Central had tried to salvage all of its secrets. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  Groans behind again.

  I spin around and lop off the head of a naked zombie much too close to Bilbo and I. The body crumbles to a pile of dust as soon as my blade makes contact. Poor bastard, I’m thinking, how unfortunate to turn without your clothes on. I’d at least have the decency to put on a robe if I knew where my sickness was heading. Not everyone is as wise as me, I guess.

  “Oh, thank God,” Brandon breathes. He’s beyond on-edge.

  “There’s another freebie. I want to know more,” I say, wiping the blade off on Brandon’s head. Goo and dried brains settled on his curly, dark hair like a hat.

  I know, I know. I’m a monster. All that bullshit.

  “Anything! Anything you want, Jupiter!” he shouts.

  But I don’t know what to ask him. So I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why? Why did he do it?”

  Brandon’s brow furrows, causing the zombie dandruff to cascade down his face. “Why did who do what?”

  “You know who. You know what,” I say.

  Brandon closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath. “Jupiter, is that really the question you want to ask me right now?”

  I nod.

  I can already feel the zombies closing in behind me. Their guttural howls, their unnerving footsteps. Right now, I don’t care. Right now, I am invincible.

  “Why did he do it? Why did you follow him?”

  Brandon stares past me at the zombies. I step back, but I don’t slice and dice. Not yet. Have to keep the fear ingrained in him.

  “Answer me,” I demand.

  The nearest zombie lunges at Brandon. I grab the creature’s waistband. This man has died and come back wearing sweatpants, thank God. The elastic hasn’t snapped or rotted. So it’s like having the zombie on a bungee cord as he flails his scabby arms at Brandon and clamps his jaws open and closed with a click loud enough to be heard over the chorus of zombie voices.

  Bilbo is prancing, trying to get away. Soon, my new friend, soon.

  Brandon screams and turns his head. I give the zombie a little more slack. He’s inches away from Brandon’s ear.

  “This one is hungry!” I shout. “Answer the question and I’ll throw him down the hill. Do a little zombie bowling.”

  “He did it because he just enjoys chaos! And we followed him because…”

  I push the zombie forward. His face makes contact with Brandon’s. Brandon screams bloody murder, shrill enough to make me want to cringe away. The zombie, lucky for Brandon, doesn’t take a chunk out of his cheek. The sudden movement confuses the beast. All that Brandon has to show for this incident is a smeared red mark that isn’t his blood.

  “Followed him because why?” I shout, pulling the zombie back again.

  “Because he’s crazy enough to thrive in this fucked up world!” Brandon shouts. “Because he has a way with words!”

  That sounds about right. People think there’s safety in crazy. Look at Germany following Hitler. Sometimes they’re so scared, they can’t sense the crazy they’re choosing to follow until it’s too late.

  It’s good enough. The zombie meets my blade and stops struggling.

  “It’s all about survival,” Brandon babbles. “They think he’s the best bet at surviving.”

  I nod. There’s one more question on my mind. I ask it. “Everyone in Haven. When I woke up, everyone was either dead or gone. What happened to the others?”

  Brandon smiles. His eyes don’t. In those eyes there is still fear. “What do you think happened to them?” I think they’re still out there. Somewhere. They have to be.

  I point the blade, slick with zombie blood, at his open wound. He knows as well as I do that if that blood gets into his own blood stream, he’s only got a few hours before he turns, but he doesn’t wince at this. It’s quite dissatisfying.

  “They went with him, with us. They drank the fucking Kool-Aid. Do you blame them?” Brandon says.

  No way. That’s impossible.

  I think of Norm and Abby, part of the few bodies among the ruins I did not find. Some of the deceased were desiccated, but not beyond recognition. I scoured the remains. I scoured the whole park. It took me nearly two weeks to do this, to find and bury all of the dead. I was so sore afterward, I could hardly walk, but I couldn’t just lie down. Back then, I was stupid enough to keep going. So I did. I killed any zombies that found their way through the blown-away gates. Beat any others who I’d stumbled upon feasting on the corpses. I was an angry man then. I was hotheaded.

  Not any longer.

  Now, I am a numb man.

  Still, I cannot see Norm and Abby joining up with the one-eyed man and the District, those who had killed their loved ones and destroyed their homes.

  I look at Brandon, hate in my eyes. “Why did he leave me alive?”

  “Oh, finally! An easy one!” Brandon chuckles.

  The nearest zombie lunges and I slice it in half with a grunt. A spray of blood soaks my pants, chills me. How it is so cold, I have no clue, especially when the days have been warm and the nights barely chilly.

  “He wanted you to see what he’d done,” Brandon says. “He wanted you to wake up and take it all in.”

  “Why me?”

  Brandon smiles slyly. I have stared into the face of evil countless times before. I can recognize it from a mile away. In this day and age, there are more evil men and women than there are good, it seems. But Brandon…he is beyond evil. He is way past a point of no return.

  “You, because he dreamed about you,” Brandon says. “You, because you threatened him.”

  “I didn’t even know him.”

  “Didn’t matter.”

  “Does he still dream about me?”

  “I highly doubt it. You’re not exactly important anymore. I mean, look at you. You look like death reincarnated. Like that thing.” Brandon nods at a zombie close behind me. I turn around to be greeted with a gruesome sight. One arm. A chest that’s caved in, an exposed blackened heart. The snarling face, lips peeled back, teeth bloody. I kill the thing before it has a chance to lunge.

  “I haven’t seen the Overlord for many a moon. It’s not my destiny to see him any longer,” Brandon says. His face goes slack, as if he’s repeating a prayer he’s memorized. There’s a blank, dead look in his eyes. “No, I’ve seen the future and I’m not in it. Isn’t that right, Jupiter?”

  Goosebumps prickle my flesh. This isn’t right. This whole experience is wrong. I don’t know what’s going on, what
Brandon is doing to me.

  “Thank you, Jupiter. Thank you for giving me what I want. Thank you, thank you, thank you! The Overlord thanks you, too.” He starts to shake, to writhe like a snake. I take a step back. Cold flesh touches my hand. I turn around.

  More zombies.

  I nearly fall just as one reaches out for me.

  “Your friends are one of us, Jupiter!” Brandon is shouting. “You can be, too. I’m sure he’d welcome you with open arms…if you let him.”

  The words barely register in my brain because I’m reaching for my gun, almost dropping my sword, too, as I swing it as hard as I can in a semicircle. Blood splashes. Limbs dice.

  The gun in my hand now. I aim up, blow the face off of the nearest zombie. All that’s left standing in front of me is a mounting mess of gore. I’m quick on the trigger. True on the aim. Three more drop, double-dead.

  “It’s okay, Jupiter. Let him in. Let him in!” Brandon says. My heart has either beat so hard its exploded in my chest or I’m more numb than numb. Now that I have cleared some room, I turn around and rush toward Bilbo. Two zombies have spotted the horse and make their way toward him.

  Two more shots. Horse is not on the menu tonight.

  Brandon doesn’t scream as a few zombies fall to the ground before him. It’s all happening in slow motion, eerie opera music playing in my head. The spray of the reddest blood I’ve ever seen exploding from his jugular. The twitching of his neck as flesh is torn and stretched beyond its capability, drowning out the opera music with a wet and audible snap. The whole time this goes on, Brandon’s eyes never leave mine. There’s knowledge in those eyes. Maybe it’s the knowledge of death. Maybe it’s the knowledge of the future. I can’t say for sure. All I do know is that it creeps me out, scares me beyond belief.

  Bilbo is tied to the tree and I literally don’t have time to untie his reins. If I try, the zombies would fall on us quicker than they’ve fallen on Brandon. So I slice down with my sword and the reins snap at the touch of the blade’s edge. As soon as I jump onto Bilbo’s back, he lifts up on his hind legs, kicking his front ones out in defense. A few more zombies have snaked around the tree trunk, knowing they’re too late to the dinner party that is Brandon. I can’t even distinguish their features, they are too old and weathered. Ancient corpses. Unholy. Unnatural.

  “Go! Go!” I shout at Bilbo, but he doesn’t need me to tell him. He lands and, in a burst of speed, bowls over the zombies. Their death radiates off of them in waves. I feel it on my skin, as cold as the Grim Reaper’s touch. Down the hill we go, me hanging on for dear life, leaving the zombies behind, leaving Brandon to his demise.

  What unnerves me the most throughout our entire descent is that I never hear him scream.

  Not even once.

  9

  Bilbo gallops until we are clear of the forest, back on the road again. I don’t think I’ve taken a breath since we left that horde.

  I pull on what’s left of Bilbo’s reins. “Whoa,” I say. I need to catch my breath and so does the horse. We are on a bridge, water rushing beneath us in a steady roar. It sounds like some runaway monster.

  I spur him on at a trot. This isn’t the place we should be. Hearing is everything in the apocalypse. My ears are tuned to listen for the slightest out of place noise, but if I can’t hear anything over the roar of the water, it’ll make no difference. Anyone or anything could sneak up on us.

  Just as we cross the bridge and hit solid road again, I do hear something. My gun comes out in a blur and aims down the dark woods where I think I heard the sound.

  It’s footsteps.

  “Not again,” I say. “Fucking zombies.”

  But it’s not a zombie. It’s a woman, and she comes out with her hands held high above her head. “Don’t shoot,” she pleads.

  It takes a moment for me to register who the woman is, and once I do, I can’t believe it.

  “Lilly?” I say.

  “Hi,” she replies. “I didn’t mean to spook you.”

  “You’ve been following me.” It’s not a question.

  “I had to get out of there,” she says. She approaches Bilbo and strokes the bridge of his nose. What you call that on a horse, I have no idea. Snout? Muzzle? I’ll settle with muzzle.

  “Not safe out here,” I say.

  “Not safe in there, either. You saw how the District comes in and acts like they run the place. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to them like you did.”

  I smile, but it’s a tired smile. Lilly’s sudden appearance irks me more than makes me happy.

  “I’m serious. I’m not trying to suck up to you, Jack,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “What did you do to the one you tied up? Brandon is his name, right?” she asks.

  “Was his name,” I say. The way I speak gives me chills. Heartless monster comes to mind, and I’m not thinking about Brandon. I’m thinking about myself.

  “You killed him.” This not a question, either. She looks pale in the moonlight, as if the idea of death is as foreign to her as real zombies were once foreign to the world.

  “Not exactly,” I say, and this is true. I didn’t kill Brandon, but I didn’t help him, either. Getting out of those ropes wouldn’t have been impossible if he had more time. I don’t want to think about it anymore. What happened there is something I don’t understand, something I don’t think I’ll ever understand. The way his eyes blanked out and he talked about seeing the future. It was like some sort of voodoo that has no place in the real world.

  “I heard the gunshots and the screaming.”

  “I wasn’t screaming,” I say. “I don’t scream.”

  Did I? What the hell happened out there?

  “I heard someone screaming.” She crosses her arms as if I’ve offended her. Maybe she heard Brandon and I hadn’t in my rush to get out of there.

  I look over my shoulder across the bridge. I’m guessing we’re only about a half-mile away from where all those zombies were. Too close. Much too close.

  “Come on,” I say. “We gotta get out of here. It’s not safe.”

  I dismount Bilbo. It seems like the gentlemanly thing to do. I could invite her up on the horse to ride him with me, but that seems weird. Seems like I’d be betraying Darlene in some unspeakable way.

  “Why’d you follow me?” I ask.

  She hesitates, runs a hand through her short, dark hair. Even in the night, her eyes shine. “You intrigued me.”

  “Intrigued you?”

  “Yeah. You’re different. You’re good.”

  “Good?” I laugh. “Hardly. There’s no such thing as good anymore. Only evil, bad, and gray. I’m closer to bad than I am gray, and there’s some days where I feel just plain evil.”

  “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of,” she says, a hand on the saddle, walking in rhythm with the horse, who snorts at her touch. “It was true before the world ended and it’s still true now. But I don’t think you’ve done anything without purpose. You’ve never done anything purely out of evilness.”

  I think about that for a moment. “What about those men I killed back in your bar?” I pause and look at her.

  “You did what you did because you didn’t want to see Shiv die.”

  “Shiv?” I ask.

  “The piano player.”

  I did what I did because Brandon and the other guards deserved to die.

  We approach a fork in the road. I know if we go west, we’ll eventually end up back in Freeland’s orbit. I have no intention of going that way, but neither do I have any intention of picking up a partner on this journey of revenge. So I point at the road and hand Lilly the reins.

  “Looks like your exit is coming up,” I say.

  She frowns. Ignores me.

  I stop, making sure the horse stops with me, otherwise Lilly is liable to go on. I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but I’m pretty sure I have to give it to her straight or she’ll just follow me around like a lost puppy who thinks I
’m its mother.

  “Back to Freeland,” I say.

  She says nothing.

  “Or wherever you want to go. Just not with me,” I continue.

  Still, she says nothing.

  Now it’s my turn to frown. I hope it comes off more natural than my smiles do.

  “You don’t know how good you got it there in Freeland,” I say. “You’re protected.”

  “By the District? Hardly,” she replies. Her arms cross again. It’s a gesture I’m beginning to not particularly like.

  “Hey, it’s better than no protection at all. Like out here.” I sweep my hand around the road. It’s overgrown. Weeds stick up from the cracks in the asphalt. The lines aren’t as faded as they were on the roads I took to get here, but you can tell no city street department has been this way in a long time.

  “I can handle myself.” Lilly moves her long-sleeved shirt up at the waist. On her hip, a big revolver hangs. It’s ancient. I think about Norm’s Dirty Harry gun, about the Colts gunslingers use. I’ve fired one before. It has a hell of a kickback. In my mind’s eye, I see Lilly flung a few feet backwards as she pulls the trigger.

  “I suppose if you’ve survived this long, then you can handle yourself,” I say. “But I’m not looking for company.”

  “Company? What do you think I am, a prostitute?” She smirks at this.

  I ignore the remark. “This is my mission and my mission alone,” I say, trying to insert a sense of finality into my voice.

  “It doesn’t have to be. I hate the District just as much as you do. You ever seen Star Wars?” she asks.

  “Me seen Star Wars?” I chuckle. “Of course, I’ve seen it. Who hasn’t?”

  “Well, I have, but it’s not exactly my favorite movie.”

  I grimace, all humor going out of me. “Star Wars should be everyone’s favorite movie. Especially Empire Strikes Back. That’s my favorite.”

  “That’s the one where Darth Vader says, ‘Luke, I am your father,’ right?”

  “Not exactly what he says, but at least you know that much,” I reply. Star Wars used to be one of my favorite things. I showed it to Junior. We marathoned all seven main movies and it was beautiful. But now that memory hurts, and instead of seeing the hope in Star Wars, I just see the bad. The Empire took over the galaxy, slaughtered the Jedi and scores of people and aliens while they were at it. They were defeated, but evil never dies. It always rises again.