“Stop.”
Kramer’s head jerked up in astonishment. “What? Really? Oh, thank you, thank you.”
Jeff snatched the needle, sunk it in Kramer’s neck and pressed down on the plunger.
The chemist’s face contorted into a hideous gurn. “Ugh, oh, fuck, why did you do that?”
“Oh, man up, you worm. So you’ll grow a pair of tits, what man doesn’t dream about that?” Of course, her testicles would shrivel to the size of ticks, her voice would change, she’d become moody, gain fat, lose muscle, work ethic, intelligence. Her sex life was probably done too. She’d live though. Jeff wanted her to live. She had to take care of the kids, after all, like a mother should, hers and Metcalfe’s, so she was bustled with the two children into the pantry and told to think of embroidery. The look Kramer gave Jeff when he closed the door on them - Now that was something he’d remember with fondness.
The flames were still raging nicely and were proving enough to dissuade any escape attempts. By now, part of the ceiling had caught fire but because, apparently, the building was about the only one in all of Redding constructed from steel instead of the standard timber, it may or may not succumb in totality. Either way, they were done with business, the place was trashed, gutted, flooded and what remained of the staff were about to come apart, literally.
Jeff began chopping.
The two men, Wolfe, the shrink, and Bentley went first, whilst the four women screamed and pleaded, begged and wept, cursed and threatened.
The electrolysis woman was there, a bitch who went by the name Wendy Boyd, which was a lucky break because she worked part-time. Now she was just in parts.
Carol Smeeth, essentially a glorified social worker who did the voice coaching and wardrobe, had to be chased around for a while. Her undoing came when she attempted to enter the pantry. Unfortunately for her, Kramer was pushing against the door from the other side and wouldn’t let her in and then Jeff buried the axe deep in her shoulder. A few swipes later, she lost her head.
The receptionist, whose name Jeff never knew, was probably the least guilty of the lot, and had once or twice, before everything got serious, even hinted she wasn’t entirely comfortable with what they were doing at the center. If she’d felt, perhaps not without justification, that she could rest easy being left second till last, that she might somehow be spared, then these feelings gradually vanished as, one by one, she watched Jeff turn her colleagues into something resembling ground beef.
Realizing what she was dealing with, the receptionist began edging toward the fire but swiftly changed her mind when she got close to the heat and opted instead for the window. Her tormentor allowed the woman to take the leap and to his surprise, she actually went through with it. Three seconds later came the splat.
Jeff exchanged a look with the one remaining individual before stepping towards the window for a quick look at the result. As it happened, she hadn’t landed well, and her tibia was now sticking out through an opening in her thigh. Still, she attempted to pull herself in the direction of the market but there were five zombies already shambling towards her, with more coming around the corner. He left them to it and turned to the last woman standing.
Jeff allowed the grin to slowly spread across his mouth. “Hello, Isla.”
Isla Bergmeyer was the attorney, a tall, impossibly slim creature with beady eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, brown hair that was always tied back into the tightest bun you’d ever seen, a beak for a nose and pock-marked skin. A cunt who only the worst of men would look twice at, a feminist obviously, who took out her grievances on all men, especially those with families, sons especially, by using what small modicum of power she’d been granted by the state to destroy them.
That was before those beautiful zombies came.
Things were different now.
Without the government to uphold her power, she was nothing, and she knew it.
“Remember me?”
She backed away, her face white, expression frozen. “Who … who the fuck are you?”
Jeff could only sigh at that. How many more people had she ruined? Then he remembered his face had been fried. He smacked her in the mouth and she staggered back with blood dripping down her chin. “Oh,” he brought out the bottle of testosterone pills, “I brought you a present, thought you might like them,” he held them out, “down the hatch, bitch.”
She batted it away and the bottle smacked against the wall.
Jeff laughed and clasped a hand around the back of her neck. “Let’s take a walk.”
“What?” She shuddered at his touch but was already being force-marched towards the fire.
Jeff held his arm at full extension, the bitch in front, locked his elbow and continued moving towards the simmering flames. She attempted to veer left but Jeff tightened his squeeze, causing the woman to hitch up her shoulders, she instinctively shielded her face, forlornly, and then she was screaming as the heat engulfed her, still moving, and together they passed through the inferno, agonizing screams mixed with laughter, knocking aside a cumbersome chunk of former bookshelf that stood in their path to emerge in the corridor.
Her hair and business suit were aflame, her face bright red, and she screamed as Jeff continued to maneuver her toward the gushing stream still flowing out the bathroom. At one point she almost collapsed and Jeff had to use both arms to keep her moving until he could throw her in the water.
“That’s it, girl, you did well, cool yourself down a bit.” He could see the mirrors on the bathroom wall but decided against going inside for a look. No, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He knew. He knew how he must look from the way they had all been glaring. He wasn’t a doctor but he could be certain he had fourth-degree burns covering most of his body, maybe second or third in the few places there were still intense sensations, where his nerves hadn’t completely died. Breathing was now becoming an issue, nearly every inhalation sent a blunt pain shuddering through his lungs, a constant hissing sounded in his head, one of his ears, he knew, was no longer there and his sight possessed a dark veil, like he was looking through a gauze. It was the nausea that was the worst, however, a feeling that he could be sick at any moment. Astonishingly, the only flesh that truly hurt was around his wrists where the skin was sufficiently less burned leading toward his hands which, thanks to the leather gloves, were almost fine. The one exception was his left index finger that still hurt from the day before. He’d destroyed his nervous system, for sure, which almost certainly meant he was impervious to many pain stimuli. Just so long as he didn’t die in the meantime, an event which, in all probability, was imminent.
He hunched and expelled the vomit, recovered and wiped his mouth. “Ok, that’s long enough. Get up.”
He had to assist the woman, on account of her passing out, and when she roused the screams persisted. Her burns weren’t near as bad as Jeff’s, which meant she’d be feeling it all the more. Oh well. Her heels were sliding around on the tiles so Jeff tugged them off for her. Still, her legs were on the verge of giving out as they descended into the lobby.
By now, the dead were massing in greater numbers around the back of the car, the newcomers only increasing their levels of excitement, but they were unable to interfere with Jeff as he bundled the woman into the passenger side seat. Quickly, he entered his side, closed the door and fired up the engine. Bergmeyer flopped onto him and he had to shove her away. He reversed, carefully, jostling the zombies apart with the rear. Given the space, they enveloped the vehicle but as soon as Jeff had an opening he screeched around, put it in drive and hurtled forwards.
After two minutes Jeff stopped on a quiet road and gagged her before tying her hands behind her back. He popped the trunk, exited, opened her door, lifted her out and carried her towards the back of the car, leaning her against the opening. Jeff raised the hatch. The stench hit first and jerked Bergmeyer awake like a bad batch of smelly salts.
Violent thrashing and snarling.
Jeff peered inside at the jud
ge. “Fuck!” He sighed. “That didn’t take long.” She wasn’t meant to die yet.
The judge, bound and gagged, began smacking her head against the spare wheel, in the dark her eyes appeared yellow.
“No,” Isla wheezed, “not that.”
“Ah, hello there, sleepyhead,” Jeff gave her a surprised look and bundled her into the trunk, “don’t worry, she can’t hurt you. Enjoy the ride.”
He shut the door.
Three Hours Earlier
Jeff was nervous. Too nervous. Get a grip. God, Providence or some even higher power had granted this opportunity. It had to mean something. Don’t waste it. Don’t waste it despite the frequent hot and cold flushes that were getting worse with every passing hour. The vomiting. An irritating twinge in the finger, like how cramp feels. He never got cramp in his fingers. His legs, all the fucking time. Comes from not being able to stretch out at night. But not his fingers. Odd. He gave them a flex, creaking his leather gloves.
Silence, save for the wind rustling the leaves. Few people left around here.
He’d seen the police, militia and everyone else clogging the roads south, heading for Sacramento. Go where the nation’s elites are. Must protect them. After vanquishing San Francisco, it seemed the dead were spreading out. Oakland, San Jose, Stockton and most importantly, of course, Sactown. That they’d already been seen roaming about the northern sticks didn’t matter, at least not to the comrades who ran the show. Must protect the nation’s capital. Fuck the rural folk. So now, without any men, the relatively unimportant town of Redding was as good as defenseless. A nice time for a crime spree. Or to get even.
What a fucking mess.
Shoulda just given the people back their guns, but who was Jeff to complain?
No, this was his moment, and there had to be a reason for it all, for the dead, for the retards in Sacramento shitting themselves and calling on every able-bodied man to turn himself over for service.
Not Jeff though. No. He’d rather die than help them. The regime. Not that they’d trust him with a borrowed firearm anyway. Not with his record, his past.
Besides, he had his excuses.
He reached into the backseat and rustled about between the upholstery and sleeping bag for the binoculars. Sifted shit out of the way. Found them. Trained them on City Hall. He watched for a while. Figures moved past windows. Ran. People came in. Mostly women, children. Very few men apart from a few wheelchairs. Or elderly. Lots of little dogs. Cats. At least one snake was brought in. A military Humvee. Coming around the building.
Fuck. Was it too late?
Should have just abandoned all caution, charged in and grabbed the bitch. It was Providence, after all, the universe was on his side. What could go wrong?
Unless…
What if the Humvee was a sign?
He retrained the glass and waited for the vehicle to stop. Maybe it wasn’t even heading for City Hall. It stopped a few yards from the entrance. Fuck. After thirty seconds a man in fatigues stepped out and slammed the door. Rifle slung over a shoulder. E-5. Sergeant. Same rank as Jeff, before…
Now, there was an idea…
He exited and began rooting through his clothes on the back seat. Found his old uniform and boots. Donned them. It would have to do.
He fired up the engine. Drove as close as he dared. Couldn’t risk being seen approaching in a rusty Toyota containing his life’s possessions. No. Too hard to explain. Stopped on a slope. Positioned the car for an easy escape. Got out. Didn’t lock the doors.
He could still walk the walk, he hoped, despite everything, and he stepped past the Humvee without incident, up the steps and through the glass doors. Inside City Hall.
“Sergeant!” The voice was not unfriendly but there was definitely a warning tone in it.
Jeff stopped and clocked the sergeant from across the foyer as he began stamping over. He took the opportunity to scan the floor. One receptionist on a cell. Two old men tugging a roll of barbed wire. Good luck with that. A dog barking. Somebody else booby-trapping the stairs with what had to be industrial strength glue. No guns though. Except for the one soldier’s.
The sergeant arrived. “Can I help y…”
They realized it together, they both making a double-take.
“Corporal Hodge?” Providence? Jeff couldn’t believe it. This was about the last person he needed.
Hodge coughed into a closed fist. “It’s Sergeant Hodge now, sergeant, erm, mist…” he’d been about to call Jeff by his civilian name, Mister Harper, now that he’d been discharged, but checked himself upon noticing the uniform, complete with sergeant’s insignia still on the gorget patch. They’d been stationed together in Florida, about as far away as it was possible to get, indeed, it was another time altogether, so this was some real rotten luck.
Being sober was paying already and Jeff had enough presence of mind to think quick, to interject before the inevitable questions were stammered out by this dimwit. “I’m here to transfer Judge Taylor, so if you’d accommodate me, I’d be grateful,” he spoke in the same old voice he always used when dealing with subordinates, even though, technically, they were now of the same rank, even though they weren’t.
“Yes, um, of course, sergeant,” there was a hint of uncertainty in Hodge’s tone and that his eyes narrowed upon Jeff’s uniform, creased to shit after spending the best part of eight years screwed up on the back seat of his car, filthy boots and unshaven face, was not lost on the imposter. What could be said about Hodge? Nicknamed Norm by the boys at the barracks, the man was about as physically average and nondescript as it got, and could not have been picked out from a roomful of accountants, with the standard army issue cropped brown hair and square jaw. That he’d, apparently, made sergeant, despite being a complete nonentity was testament to how much of a stickler he’d always been, as well as to the army’s falling standards. “I’m sorry to have to do this, sergeant, but I must insist on seeing the order.”
Jeff took a breath and nodded in the direction of the elevator, “of course, but I’m in a rush, you mind if we do it walking,” he began patting his pockets as he set off and Hodge followed.
“Take it to the top,” Hodge said, “they’re bedding down in typical opulence while the locals have to take their chances on their own,” he shook his head, “no guns, huh, and then they send the muscle south … I’m gonna have to insist on seeing that order before we get in the elevator, sergeant … if they’re trying to get everyone killed then they’re going about it the right way.”
The doors opened and Jeff stepped inside, still patting his jacket. “I thought you were based in Florida. What are you doing this far west?”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only Californian who had to make that awful decision. Caught in the fucking middle.” Hodge laughed sadly, stepped inside and pressed the button himself. “It was a no-win. Betray my country or betray my state. Of course, as so often with these things, you go where you have family. Whether I made the right choice or not, it’s done now and there ain’t no going back, ever, for me, anyone else or this republic by the looks o’ things. Doesn’t mean I don’t long for the old country, though.” The doors closed and he sniffed. Jeff’s fatigues had not been washed in so long. “Anyway, I thought you’d been discharged? That was the talk. Something about a breakdown, or something.”
Jeff gave a concessionary nod. “Aye, that was the tale I heard had been spread,” he gestured at his overalls, filthy and threadbare in several places, “but as you can see, that’s all they were, tales.”
They began moving up and Hodge’s eyes flicked over Jeff’s gloved hands as he continued patting himself, the sides of his mouth curling down with impatience.
Jeff would have to give more. He sighed. “Truth is that yes, I found it hard, being at the wrong end of the continent, away from the family, and all that. Not to mention having to make the same decision as you.” In truth, Jeff had returned only a year after the President’s reelection, right when things were really sta
rting to heat up, and had therefore never had to make that decision, but he was stalling for time, going the empathy route. “At times it felt like I was breaking down, I’m sure. You know what it’s like, being away from yours, right?”
“Huh!” He nodded. “You got that right. Miss my little girl all the time. The wife, however…” the elevator stopped and they waited for the doors to open. “Judge Taylor, though, really? Just her? What’s so special about that witch? We have a Supreme Court Justice squatting amongst that worthless lot and they want to protect Taylor?”
“Just following orders. I shouldn’t have to tell you how it works. I don’t ask, they don’t tell.” The doors opened and Jeff gestured for Hodge to leave first. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling me where she is, I can be out of your way.” He hoped he’d leave but that would be wishful thinking.
“They’re all in the City Council Chamber. Had enough advance warning to bring in a shit load o’ catering, I mean, enough to last a month or more, and the good stuff, you understand, all on your dime. They’ll be seeing this thing out in style, no doubt. You hear that?” Hodge jerked his jaw in the direction of the atrium. “Sounds like they’re all having a sing-song, no doubt led by the Justice hisself. A fan of Country and Western and apparently there’s some old washed up country diva bunkering down in there with them. Forget her name. Used to be famous. Well, he’s hardly likely to miss out on the opportunity. I’ll just check your order, sergeant, and I’ll leave you to fetch the old girl yourself.”
“Country and Western, huh?” Jeff grinned and slapped his old companion on the shoulder. “I can suffer through it, I guess. Don’t suppose it’s Shania, by any chance?”
Hodge laughed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. If it was, maybe I’d be praying for this apocalypse to succeed. Keep myself locked up with her. Somewhere snug.”
The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller Page 3