by Tony Urban
Juli had been focusing on the truck and the sound of the commotion drew her toward the men. “What’s going on?”
She got there just in time to see a small horde of zombies streaming out of the bus. All of them were sixty plus years old and Aben realized it must have been a sightseeing tour, silver riders or whatever the hell those things were called. What a shitty road trip they ended up with. Talk about deserving a refund.
“Juli, get back to the car!”
She hesitated, took another look, then ran. Aben was already there when she got back, but he didn’t plan to stay. He grabbed his hammer. Juli caught his sleeve as he moved past her. “You’re crazy if you try to fight them with that. There’s too many.”
Aben didn’t respond. After all, she was right. Instead he returned to the bus where five of the zombies had Mitch surrounded.
He swung the maul hammer and crushed the head of a woman whose perm was so tight it probably doubled as a face lift. Then he smashed in the face of a man who sported the kind of flat top crew cut only worn by old veterans.
Mitch grappled with a skinny broad who wore a “Ask grandma, she’ll say yes” t-shirt. The kid grabbed her by the hair, which proceeded to pop off her head. He stared at it quizzically, not realizing it was a wig. Aben brought the hammer down on the back of her nearly bald skull.
More zombies had bunched around them. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Aben knew the only reason they were still alive was because they were of the slower, clumsier variety. But even with that advantage, they were far outnumbered.
Two of the creatures grabbed his good arm. Mitch snatched the maul from his hand and used it to smack one of them in the face. Its upper lip folded inward with a wet, stomach turning crunch and it lost its grip on Aben. Then, Aben spun sideways, grabbed the other creature and threw it over the edge of the bridge. The almost 900 feet fall was long and he didn’t watch all of it. Immediately, he turned and grabbed the maul back from Mitch. More zombies had arrived on the scene.
Aben heard an engine roar, then looked past the zombies and saw Juli leaning out the car window.
“Get back!” She screamed.
Aben turned to Mitch. “Go on three.”
Mitch nodded and Aben held up one finger. Then two. Mitch ran. Little prick. Aben followed, dashing head and shoulders down pushing through the pack of zombies. Just as they cleared them, they heard the tires squeal as Juli laid rubber and vaulted the car forward.
It plowed into the old, undead travelers. Most bounced off like tennis balls. Several fell and the car rolled up and over them, the tires spinning as they ripped away their flesh and sent black blood spewing. The car rocked and bounced and by the time it hit the bus, its forward momentum had almost ceased.
Juli climbed out the door and looked back to where a trail of destroyed and wounded zombies laid in the wake she’d left behind. Some were missing arms and legs, but still crawled toward a potential hot meal.
Aben made quick work of them. The maul crumbled their heads like empty soda cans and within a minute he’d finished them off.
Juli grabbed his hand as he led her across the carnage, her feet sliding in the gore like she was trying to walk on ice.
“Holy shit, lady! That was awesome!” Mitch said as he looked at the bodies. He didn’t notice the zombie coming up behind him. It was a tall, gaunt man in a Cincinnati Reds hat and his hands grabbed hold of Mitch’s greasy mop of hair before he even knew it was happening.
The boy struggled to break free but the zombie had a solid grip. It leaned down, its mouth open and drooling saliva which spilled onto the teen’s head. Aben was fifteen feet away, too far to get there before the zombie would have already sunk its teeth into him. He was ready to try anyway when he saw the dog bounding toward them. He had an idea.
“Duck!”
Mitch stared at him, his wide eyes full of fear. “What?”
“I said duck, you dumb son of a bitch!”
Mitch dropped to his knees and between his unwashed oily hair and the zombie’s own drool, he slipped free just as the dog hit the creature’s chest. The Reds fan stumbled back one step, then another. That’s when it hit the barrier. It was far too tall and top heavy to recover its balance and the zombie did a backward swan dive off the bridge.
Mitch turned to watch it fall. When it hit, a crazed grin spread across his face. “Take that motherfucker!” His words echoed through the chasm. The dog licked at Mitch’s hands in a ‘hey, don’t forget me’ gesture and the teen scratched its neck, almost giddy. “Good dog. That’s a good fucking dog!”
There were a few zombies left and Aben took care of them. Juli had been trying to start the car with no luck and Mitch’s examination of the bus found no keys.
“So, what do we do now, man?” Mitch asked.
“Walk,” Aben said.
He helped Juli get Grady out of the car and over the bodies, then they crossed the remainder of the bridge on foot. Aben knew the others weren’t fond walking, but he much preferred it.
Chapter Sixteen
The trio and the dog had walked five or so miles when Juli smelled it. She told herself it was her imagination, but the more time past, the worse it got. The smell, was shit and it was coming from Grady.
The small, silent man had kept a steady pace as long as Juli led him by the hand. When the smell became too strong to ignore, she risked a glance at the tops of his shoes, crisp white sneakers that she had found for him at the Greenbrier a few days earlier, were covered in brown liquid with small chunks mixed in for good measure.
Aben had taken the lead and was five yards ahead. She thought it strange but the man seemed different now, more confident. Like somehow being inside a car handicapped him. Mitch was beside him, as was the dog.
“Aben,” she said, the word coming out as a whisper. He didn’t respond and she repeated herself, louder. “Aben?”
He looked back this time. “What is it?”
Juli turned to Grady. “Wait right here.” He didn’t respond as she let go of his hand and moved toward the others. She beckoned Aben closer with her finger. She didn’t want Mitch to overhear this. There was something cruel about the boy. Maybe it was just the cocky arrogance of adolescence, but she knew he’d howl over Grady’s predicament if he found out.
“He…” She glanced back at Grady who stood exactly as she’d left him. “He had an accident.”
Aben looked at him, curious. “What kind of accident?”
Juli saw Mitch looking at them and leaned closer to Aben. “The kind that happens in your pants.”
Aben furrowed his brow at first. Then it hit him. “Oh. Oh!”
“He’ll need cleaned up. Can we stop at the next house we come to?”
“Of course.”
Aben returned to the lead. Juli heard Mitch ask him, “What was that about?”
“None of your concern,” Aben said.
She appreciated that and had a feeling Aben was a man she could trust. At least, she hoped.
The next house was almost half a mile away. It was a rambling, unkempt ranch with blue shutters and dirty yellow siding, but it would do. Aben took it upon himself to see whether the house was empty. It was.
Juli took a bowl from the kitchen cabinets and there was enough water remaining in the lines to fill it. She led Grady into the bathroom and undressed him. Juli had raised two children and changed more than her share of dirty diapers along the way. But she’d never had to clean a man before. The experience was more embarrassing than anything else. Fortunately, Grady sat there, motionless and silent as a statue, while she scrubbed the feces from his cracks and folds, out of his fine, almost white pubic hair.
“There,” she said upon completion. “All better. You were a good boy.”
She was aware that she was treating this man like a child, but didn’t know how else to behave. She wondered if he’d ever speak to her. Or speak at all, for that matter. Who knows, maybe he’s better off like this, not having to remember what he’s lost and see what’s become of the
world.
Juli raided the bedroom closet and found pants and shirts that didn’t fit well, but were close enough for him. She dressed him like he was her very own life-sized Ken doll, then fed him some of the baby food they’d taken from the car before abandoning it.
Aben and Mitch slept in separate rooms, while Juli put Grady to bed in the master. She considered leaving, but thought it safer to stay close. She laid beside him, their bodies fitting together like stackable Tupperware. Only $39.99 on the Home Shopping Network. She wondered if Donald had survived the plague. As she drifted to sleep, she hoped so.
Chapter Seventeen
An overturned pick up blocked the road. Saw considered ramming it out of the way but knew it would get caught up on the rebar spikes and he’d have a hell of a time getting free of it. He grabbed a tow rope from the rescue kit he kept tucked under the seat and jumped down from the cab.
As he looped the rope around the axle, he heard the shuffling feet on the roadway.
Bugger me.
He’d left the sledgehammer, along with his pistol, in the dump truck and didn’t have any weapons on him. If it had been just one set of feet dragging he wouldn’t have been as concerned but there were several.
When he turned around, he saw four zombies between himself and his dump truck. There was one woman and three men, including one rotund, football-shaped fellow who looked to be half again Saw’s size.
The idea of running didn’t occur to him. Solomon Baldwin wasn’t a runner, he was a fighter. As they closed within ten feet of him he removed the tow rope from the crashed pick up and held it in his hands, the metal hook dangling from the end. He rocked it back and forth, building up momentum.
“Come closer, mates. Saw’s got a surprise for you.”
The zombies did close in. The first in line was a teenage boy who had the long, lean body of an athlete. He was two yards away when Saw swung the rope. The metal hook arced through the air and slammed into the boy’s face, destroying a set of teeth so perfect they could only have been shaped with the help of braces. The teen went down in a heap and Saw slammed a booted foot on the back of his neck. He felt the ensuing crunch all the way up his body and that set his pulse racing.
He pulled the tow rope in close again, twirling it round and round. The next zombie in line was the lone female of the group. She had a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap pulled down low on her forehead, almost covering her dull eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail which poked free from the back of the hat.
Saw thought about saying something he perceived as clever. Maybe ‘batter up’, but that seemed a little too much. Instead he swung the rope overhead like it was a lasso. It whipped through the air and the metal hook smashed into the side of her face, knocking the cap askew. Saw thought she looked a bit like a wannabe rapper. A rapper with her head crumpled inward just above her ear. She took two staggering steps, then hit the ground.
He’d been so busy watching the end of her that he didn’t realize the other two zombies were on each side of him. To his left was an old man in a canary yellow button-down shirt and green polyester pants. The football-shaped giant was to his right.
Saw tried to use the tow rope but they were too close to build up any momentum. He choked up on it, grabbing the hook in his fist like it was a sixth finger. He spun toward the giant and lashed upward with the hook. It poked a hole in the soft flesh under its jaw and the hook curved out its open mouth like a metal tongue.
Saw grabbed the rope in both fists and jerked it with all his considerable strength. The giant’s jaw tore loose and skittered down the street like a kicked can. Its tongue dangled unrestricted, black blood dripping from the wounds.
That’s when the old zombie grabbed him. It smelled like Ben Gay mixed with death but the old bastard had a hold of Saw’s arm and he wasn’t letting go. As he tried to pull free the giant zombie was back for round two. It grabbed Saw’s head in its oversize hands and caught hold of his ears, twisting them like it was trying to tune in a weak radio station.
The old man was leaning in for a bite of forearm a la Solomon when its face exploded from the nose up. A spray of bone and blood and chunks of flesh soaked Saw’s upper body. Even the giant zombie seemed shocked, peering over at its brethren like it was trying to figure out where its head went.
Saw used the distraction to tackle the zombie to the ground. It tumbled head first to the pavement where he stomped on its skull, over and over and over again until it was nothing more than a pile of chunky gore.
With the zombie finished off, he spun around trying to figure out from where the gunshot had originated. He saw nothing at street level and raised his gaze skyward. That’s when he saw the flash as the glass of the scope reflected the sunlight.
Are you going to shoot me too?
Saw raised his hand in a half wave, half surrendering motion. “Hello up there.”
The person peering out from behind the scope shifted it a few inches to the side, revealing a feminine face. “Hello down there.”
“Thanks for the good shooting,” Saw said.
She laid on her stomach, in a sniper’s stance, and she’d yet to set the rifle aside. “How do you know I was aiming for him?
“Wishful thinking.” He couldn’t see her well, but she had a heavy mop of black hair and Saw thought she might be Asian.
“If I come down there are you going to kill me?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
Her name was Yukie Endo. She was Japanese in name but born and raised in America and she seemed fascinated by Saw’s Birmingham accent. She was plain with a wide, doughy face and short, even by Saw’s standards. Despite her unimpressive physical attributes, she kept the rifle slung over her shoulder and Saw had a feeling she could handle herself.
As far as she could tell she was the last person alive in her Western Maryland village. She’d been working on clearing out the zombies over the last few weeks and, along the way, had amassed a sizable collection of firearms, one that impressed Saw. He knew how to use a pistol but his aim was for shit and he’d never fired a rifle or shotgun in his life.
Yukie was equally impressed with Saw’s dump truck. She peered up at it in a kind of awe and, when she reached up and plucked a chunk of flesh free from the razor wire, he knew she was a keeper.
Saw sat on the toilet inside a cramped bathroom stall. As he emptied his bowels, he passed the time by reading graffiti scrawled on the walls.
50 yards to the outhouse by Willie Makeit.
Call BJ Betty for great head - 130-4984
This place smells like ass.
He was disappointed there wasn’t anything more creative. Then, after scanning the scribbles, he found a multi-verse poem.
People who write on shit house walls, roll their shit into little balls.
People who read those lines of wit, eat those little balls of shit.
Saw burst out laughing upon reading it. “A regular Robbie Burns that one is.”
He grabbed a handful of toilet paper, wadded it up and reached under his bum to wipe, making sure to dig around for a few moments. He dropped the used paper into the bowl. He tried to flush but it only swirled lazily around twice, just enough to stir up the smell. Saw wasn’t too concerned. It wasn’t like he’d be returning any time soon. Or ever, for that matter. He closed the lid.
Let it be a surprise for the next bastard.
When he exited the restroom, he emerged into the dreary light of an overcast, gray afternoon. And into the company of more zombies than he could count.
There had been none when he went into the loo and he wondered where they’d all come from. Certainly, he hadn’t made that much noise. He tried to look over and around them, searching for Yukie, but there were too many to see past. The door banged closed behind him, and every zombie there turned their heads toward him.
“Bugger me.”
He had no weapons on him, a mistake he told himself he’d never make again if he got out of this.
>
Where the fuck is Yukie?
The closest zombie wore a highway worker’s uniform, its neon green reflective vest was stained with blood. The man in the uniform looked to be around forty with salt and pepper hair and a cigarette still tucked behind his ear. He pushed toward Saw who backed away until he hit the restroom door.
Saw reached behind himself, feeling for the doorknob and got it. The construction worker was almost on him and two others - a fit young woman in a spandex outfit like bicyclists wore and a middle-aged woman in mom jeans and a blouse with a pink rose print - were on its heels. Saw knew he was walking into a trap, but he couldn’t see any other option. He jerked open the door and dove back into the restroom, slamming it shut behind him.
He checked the cinder block walls, hoping he’d missed seeing a window on his first foray into the room, but there was none to be found. He could hear the zombies outside. Their bodies hitting the door. Their undead hands scratching and clawing in a desperate attempt to get him. To eat him.
Saw needed something he could use to fight but the room was almost empty. A dirty sink stood in the corner and under it, an overflowing trash bin. He upended it, sifting through used paper towels, cigarette butts, a used condom, but found nothing useful.
At the other side of the narrow room a mop leaned against the wall. Saw grabbed it. The handle was wooden. This might be something. He snapped off the mop end with his foot and the wood splintered into a jagged shard. He held it before him like a five-foot-long spear, poking and jabbing with it. As weapons went, it was rather pathetic but under the circumstances, it would have to do. He felt a little like a medieval soldier, ready to rush into battle and almost certain death. All he was missing was his shield. That gave him an idea.
The door to the restroom opened slowly. The nearest zombies had piled against it and they stumbled backward. The cyclist fell and a few others toppled over her. That allowed the door to open far enough for Saw to emerge. In his right hand, he brandished the mop handle turned spear. In his left, he carried the lid to the toilet tank. His own porcelain shield.