by Erb, Thom
The rain pelted down like an angry God as she forced her way through the groping and grabbing undead. Finally, she reached the passenger's side door and yanked it open, jumped inside, and slammed the door.
She waited.
Nothing came. The moaning, sorrow-filled cries of the undead filled the parking lot, but nothing attacked the car. She crossed herself—an old habit form her Catholic days. Something she hadn't done in a very long time. Hard rain pounded the car, sounding like mini-cannons going off in a taunting-syncopated pattern.
She lay there, on the floorboard of the car, hoping for a miracle.
35.
It's so Hard.
“Hola, puta. I told ya, your ass was mine.” Dianira smiled wide. In the flashes of light, he looked like a demon. Rain pelted my eyes, and I frantically wiped it away so I could see. I tried to move, but he had one booted foot on my chest. Pushing the knife in my back deeper inside me. I heard things snap and pop and fought to inhale. It wasn’t looking good for this hombre, and all I could think of was my loves. Inez and baby Bellia back home…Houston.
I hadn’t really prayed in a long time. The half-assed attempt earlier proved it was a damned fool's errand. Too late to start now. No deathbed conversions for this old warhorse. I looked up defiantly at the piece of shit gang-banger and spit at him.
Dianira laughed, letting the harsh rain wash the spit away.
“Oh, you do have some cajones after all. It wasn’t just the badge that gave you the big dick after all, huh, Ranger?” He knelt down on my chest. I felt a searing pain jolt my body from head to toe as his smile never faded.
“Go fu—” My breath left me and white burning pain took its place. It only made the asshole smile wider. Behind him, the black sky danced with forks of lightning that held tinges of red and yellow. It reminded me of pus, of rot and death. Fitting. I coughed and felt blood spray from my wrecked lung and saw it splatter his grinning face.
“I’ll taste your blood, pig. I will drink it. Because of you, I sat rotting in that 4x6 cement shit-box. Because of you, I lost my wife and son, bitch. All because you couldn’t just take the fucking deal and walk away, I missed the death of my Mamma.” He used the back of his wrist to wipe the tears way, but never let his cold brown eyes lose focus on me.
“No, esé.” He used his off hand to go through my jacket pockets. He stopped suddenly as a new barrage of thunder and lightning kicked the hell out of the night sky. I could sense others gathering closer, but I could feel the shock starting to kick in. It wouldn’t be too long.
He sat down on my thighs and pulled out my badge wallet. “Oh, what do we have here?” He flipped the leather open with the barrel of my gun. “Oh, I’m gonna take this as a keep sake, if ya don’t mind, Officer.” It wasn’t a question. He ripped the Texas Ranger Star out of the wallet and shoved it into his soaking wet shirt.
The shadows around us seemed to creep in. Slowly. My head hurt. Not as bad as the stabbing pain in my back, but I couldn’t be sure if it was the lightning or the whitewash of shock finally kicking in. Either way. I cried. I’d never see Inez again. I’d never see my lovely Bellia grow up.
“Let’s see what we have here?” he mocked. Checking my other pockets, he let out a deep laugh and pulled out the keys to the 'Cuda.
My gut wrenched as I watched through rain and tear drenched eyes, as the piece of shit killer pulled out my wallet and found photos of my wife and baby. Then slowly, my I.D. with my address on it.
“Well, well, Ranger. Wow. She is one hot piece of ass.” Dianira shot me a wink and dug the barrel of the gun into my chest. “Ohhheee, son. I could eat that all day.?” He let out a laugh that echoed out into the hell-storm.
“Plea...” It was all I could muster. I could feel my blood running out into the mud of the parking lot. I tried to scream. Tried to swing at the dick-bag. Nothing responded. I was dead. Not yet, but goddamn close.
“Oh, I'm gonna ‘please,’ is alright. Trust me. I am going to do things to her body that you’ve never dreamed.” He licked his lips, staring at the photo. “Esé, before I’m done, this bitch is going to know a real man fucked her. Hell, yes.” He turned his lecherous gaze to me. His expression melted into one of stone cold hatred and determination.
He shoved the photo into his pocket and leaned in close.
“When I’m done with her, Ranger, I’m going to gut her like a pig, and then,” his mouth slowly spread into the most evil smile I’d ever seen. He continued. “I am going to slice your little girl’s head off. Then, you will truly know what it’s like to have lost everything.” He stared at me for a long moment. Our eyes locked. Matched hate for hate.
I looked around. Those shadows weren’t just darkness of the storm, no, they were other dead fucks walking and reaching out for chow. Sweet Jesus. What hell was going on here? I knew no brilliant answers were coming, I just prayed for my girls. I knew my role in this horrific play was over. I fucked up one last and fatal time. All I could hope for, was Inez would take the baby and run for Mexico. My luck was never that good.
“Hum, looks like it's time to visit…” Dianira read my I.D., “215 Hudson Street, Houston, Texas. Oh, and I made damn sure you'll live long enough to be a Big Mac meal for these... infierno desovar.” He smiled, stood up, and spit on my face. He gave the keys a playful jingle and kicked me in the ribs a few thousand times. His laughter ruled the parking lot filled with death and yellow rain.
It might have been mercy from some god up there, but I was numb, no pain. I did see dark shadows erupt into a mob. A mob of rotting, staggering forms. All in different states of rot and decay. All were dead.
I felt the cold rain batter my face. My vision became a black and white montage of images. I watched the clumsy forms fall out the diner. One by one, they all staggered down the steps, and into the mud slogged parking lot. The kid from New York was nowhere to be seen. I struggled to move. Every part of my body pulsed with pain and rage. The growing mob slowly made its way toward me.
It was over. My greatest and final fuck up. I felt my shoulders sag and my guts rolled. Then came a heavy sadness. As if every sin I’d laid bare on this world was coming home to roost on my soul. And, it demanded retribution. Every shit-bag criminal that drew on me and I had to put a bullet into. Every time I’d gotten drunk and got into a barroom brawl and kicked the shit out of some guy. Every time I slept with a drunk barfly and left her lying naked in some fleabag motel. Then there was Inez. The damage I’d done to her. The love of my life. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my blind eyes.
I heard the pounding of thunder and another sound that reminded me of how my dad, drunk off his ass, would sit at the dinner table and suck the marrow from the chicken bones and proudly proclaim, ‘Hell boy, that’s the best part.’ Then he’d backhand me. I hated that man.
The cold, brutal images quickly flashed through my rattled brain. The sounds of those undead things grabbed at me. I cautiously opened my eyelids. I wished to hell I didn’t.
I watched the red taillights of a Cadillac speed off into the storm as I fought to get to my feet. The throng of dead were getting closer, surrounding me. Despite the darkness, I still prayed for my girls, and kicked one—a burly kid, who looked to be a high school or college aged footballer. My boots found his balls, and he sprawled backward, toppling over two or three others. The storm raged on, and I closed my eyes—the agonizing pain of broken bones, cuts, and contusions wracked my shaking body. Knowing that I'd failed them once again, I cursed myself and wished for one last shot of whiskey.
I looked around the muddy parking lot, the staggering and crawling bodies surrounded me. Dead fucking bodies. They were all in different stages of rot and decay. The sadness filled me. Surrounded me like a stake through the heart. I slowly got to my feet. It hurt, muscle and bone rubbed together like nails against rusty screws. My head spun and dark images of the Mexican gang-banger, Stacy Jo, Whitney the trucker, Jimbo, Robbie… The images tore at me, and I cried…
I
could feel my surrender. My giving up.
I stood there in the yellowish colored mud and wept. A brilliant flash of lightning washed the entire parking lot.
Then I saw it. Lying there in the soggy mush. A photograph. Half of it at least. I fought off a guy in a Houston Astros jersey, bent down, and pulled it from the mud. I stood and stared at the image on wet photo.
More tears flowed and mixed with rain as it splattered on the photo. It was of Inez and me on the day Bellia was born. I was smiling. I felt even colder, if that was possible.
“Inez and Bellia McCutcheon, I love you,” I managed to shout into the freezing storm as the dead crowd surrounded me. I flailed my tired arms in every direction. They struck something. I could feel my knuckles sting as they hit bone. It didn't seem to stop those dead bastards from coming.
Above me the sky was pitch black, save the darting veins of lightning that crisscrossed and lit up the parking lot. When Dianira stomped my ass and shanked me, left me for dead, I figured I’d wake up in Hell with Satan’s flames roasting my ass. This was worse. A hell of a lot worse. My chest and side were soaking wet. Not from the rain, and as I pulled my hand away, it wasn't all blood either. I staggered back, keeping the dead at bay. I stared at my hand and laughed. My laughter sounded like I was in a huge canyon—echoing and cold. The sweet smell of whiskey filled my nostrils as I looked at my hand again.
“Dumb-ass,” I said, and took out the flask with a gapping blade hole in its center. Only the tip had cut my skin. Laughter called again from my body.
A women got too close and grabbed my arm. I grabbed her hand and shirt; trying to shove her away. She leaned down and our gazes locked. She bared her bloodstained teeth. I could see bits of meat and arteries packed in them. I fought to breathe, and then she thrust down and tried to make a midnight snack out of my throat.
No. I heard a voice burning like a four alarm blaze in my gut. Suck it up, bitch. There ain't no sad, martyr shit going down tonight. My own thoughts raced through me like a command. It sounds like some kind of hippie-dippie bullshit, but it's true.
I almost shat my dungarees, as I raised my head and saw the thick horde of moaning and groaning zombies looking at me like I was goddamn T-bone. My gaze fell to the rainy ground, and there I saw it—all I needed to keep my moving. To keep me fighting. In the muddy dirt was the photo of my girls. I knelt as fast as my broken body would let me, snatched it up, and shoved it into my pocket.
I took a deep breath and readied myself. My girls ain't dying tonight.
Neither am I.
36.
Hi-Fi- Mama.
Loud pings of hail and rolling thunder shook the 'Cuda. Stacy Jo lie curled up on the floor, waiting for the dead to go away. She cringed as she heard the Mexican's evil laughter and the groans of the Ranger, from somewhere out in the parking lot.
Her heart raced, and breathing became difficult. Getting baked was the only thing that kept her panic attacks at bay. No way in hell could she spark up now. Her body twitched with fear and uncontrollable anxiety.
A thunderclap rocked the car and almost causing her to puke. The moans of the dead and laughter only escalated her panic. In a flash, she remembered the Ranger's gun in the glove box. The small knob opened the box, and she snatched the gun, a glint of chrome caught her eye. A breath of relief escaped her nerved-racked body.
Car keys. She grinned.
Within seconds, she had the key in the ignition, and she prayed she wasn't too late. The Ranger was the first guy that was kind to her. He saved her when he had no worry or business to. She owed him.
With a quick twist of her thin wrist, the big block engine roared to life. All the zombies turned their blood-covered faces toward her.
Just what she wanted.
She yanked the lever into reverse, punched the gas pedal, and then jammed it into drive and cranked the wheel.
There was a Texas Ranger to save.
37.
Mexican Blackbird
The McCutcheon House
215 Hudson Street
Houston, Texas
1:30 a.m.
Inez stared at the storm through the large bay window. She had a clear view of the road from their house at the middle of the cul-de-sac. Thick raindrops assailed the glass. They sounded like bullets in the silence of the split-level ranch. The Television was on mute behind her. It offered a soft glow, but she couldn’t bear to listen to any more news of the storm and the terrorist attacks. Lightning danced and flashed, making her jump with each frenzied strike. She’d been on edge since Jay’s first call.
She had laid Bellia down hours before, but couldn’t sleep. She never could when Jay wasn’t home. There’d been too many of these nights over the course of the past year. She sipped absently from the Diet Coke and waited.
She had spent the last four years waiting. She knew what she was getting into when she started dating the Texas Ranger. But she never had any clue to just how many demons her fiancé had. He was the angriest man she’d ever known. He’d never laid a hand on her or the baby, and she knew in her heart he didn’t have it in him. It was other people she worried about. Then there was the drinking. He’d always enjoyed a cold beer after work, and maybe a little more with his buddies on the weekends, but it had gotten worse when they split up a year ago. She could live with the booze. It was the infidelity she couldn’t handle. There’d only been two incidences since they’d been together, but Inez had her own demons. Trust was her biggest. All that aside, she still loved him more than any other man she’d ever known. His heart was as big as the state of Texas, and his intentions were always good. She smiled soberly at that thought and the memory of how her Mama used to always tell her, ‘The road to hell was paved with good intentions.’
“You were always so right, Mamma,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. She didn’t know what to do. She had given him ultimatums after ultimatums. He’d tried, but always seemed to find a way to sabotage himself. When she talked to her Papi on the phone early that evening, he’d told her to pack up the baby and come home. Part of her wanted too. After all, how many chances did Jay deserve? Sure they were in love. Sure they were engaged, but his career in the Rangers was his passion and his last anchor to sanity. Besides her and Bellia, she hoped.
“Damn it!” She crinkled the can and bit her lip. Now he even has me putting us in second place behind his damn job. She saw her sad reflection shaking her head in the window. Inez walked to the kitchen and tossed the ruined soda can into the garbage. She opened the refrigerator, took another soda out, and closed the door. She cracked it open and sipped. The images on the door caught her breath.
A myriad of images plastered the Frigidaire. Memories that made her instantly smile. A photo of her and Jay on their first date—a ZZ Top concert that she hated—but Jay wanted to go. He was so hot she couldn’t say no. Another photo of Jay holding Bellia the day she was born. That was the first time in a long while; she’d seen him truly beaming with happiness. Hot tears stream down her cheeks. She went from one memory to the next and the tears fell more intense with each one.She knew damn well what she wanted, needed to do.She loved the grumpy bastard, despite all his issues. They’d find a way to make it. He’d come home; they’d weather this storm out both outside and in.
“Damn you, Ranger. I love you, you loco sonuvabitch.” She found herself giggling and crying, that made her miss him more. She looked up at the clock on the wall and time seemed to be crawling backward. She leaned against the fridge and sipped from the soda. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the low roar of a car's exhaust pulling in front of the house. muscle car. Then headlights broke through the darkness of the dining room. She found herself smiling, and a sharp sob caught in her chest.
“Jay!” she shouted. She tossed the can into the sink and ran to the front door.
The car's engine shut off by the time she got to the door, she unlocked it, and whipped it open with an unabashed excitement. She and Bellia needed their Ranger home, and
here he was. She was still crying as the door hit the wall, and her heart dropped out of her chest.
“Hola, mamacita. It’s not fit for man, nor beast out there.” The lanky stranger smiled wide, holding a badge, and then lean against the door jamb.
Lightning and thunder lit the night behind him, encasing him in a dark shadow that made Inez’s skin freeze and crawl. She back peddled until she fell onto the stairs.
“Have no fear, my dear. Always trust your car to the man with a star.” The stranger stepped inside, slammed the door, and locked it.
Bellia began crying from upstairs. The stranger tossed the car keys on the floor, gazed upstairs with wild eyes, and licked his thick lips.
“Oh, good. My second course is awake. But first, puta, I have a message from your dead pendejo.” His smile seemed more wide than humanly possible as he pulled out a badge from his jacket.
Inez’s tears poured down, and fear overtook her as she tried to crab walk up the stairs.
Jay’s badge. She screamed.
Baby Bellia matched her terror. The storm wailed and battered the outside of the McCutcheon home. Hiding the horrific events that were now tearing apart and scarring the inside.
40.
I Got the Message.
The parking lot of Jimbo’s Rusty Cactus Diner
1:40 a.m.
A zombie bitch in a Flock of Seagulls t-shirt tilted her head like a stray dog hearing a screeching tire for the first time. Except, this time, it truly was tires squealing, and the mighty roar of a 426 Hemi I recognized all too well.
The sky was jet black and spewed piercing ice pellets that struck my exposed skin like thousands of small daggers. I let out a wheezy laugh, as it seemed that God himself was pissing on me. Telling me, my luck had done run out.
Screw that. I'll decide when my ticket gets punched. Not today.