Dozens of bodies stumbled out, one after another, like a group of drunks at closing time. There was no end to the rows of undead it seemed. Their sites were trained on the exposed workers scrambling in the middle of the road, unsure what was going on, who the people were, and if they were in any sort of danger.
Some of the men didn’t wait around to help their fellow laborers. They hopped in whatever vehicle they could get to and took off in the opposite direction, leaving a few misfortunate souls trapped to receive a slow, painful, miserable death. The three left behind huddled together on the yellow line, their backs to each other to see from every angle.
Lonnie watched as the drooling zombies surrounded the crewmen who had nothing to defend themselves with aside from a sign attached to a metal rod. The man holding it swung out in front of him as the group converged from all sides. A tall male with a portly belly torn open and hollowed out swiped back at the sign and almost knocked it from the man’s hands.
Eight cars back, Lonnie squinted his eyes to try to make out the faces of the orange vested men on the road. It was a small town and likely he went to high school with one of them or it was the dad of somebody he knew. When his eyes roved over one, he stopped scanning.
He was incredibly tall, his brown hair styled with mousse to look like a California wave, and had tan muscles that tightened as he gripped the rod of the traffic sign. It was Rowan Brady, the guy he’d met the night before in his drunken haze, the one who left his number for Lonnie on a bar napkin.
If he didn’t do something quick, Lonnie was going to have to watch his new friend be ripped apart by the cold, dead hands of those things that inched their way closer. There was also the possibility that if he tried to help, he would also face the same gruesome death. Another one of the things reached the men and tried to get a grasp around anyone’s neck as it was shoved backwards over and over again.
Before his brain had time to process, Lonnie stepped on the gas and jerked the wheel to the left. He bypassed the other cars and hit the orange cones as he sped down the road toward the group of cowering men. A tall, fat male clad in overalls and a camo hat with half his face clawed, the flesh hanging loosely from his cheeks, stopped and turned to the truck just in time to see it plow over him, sending him high into the air. When he hit the pavement the back of his head cracked open and leaked thick black cerebral fluid over the hot pavement.
Another one stepped in the path of the Ford and suffered a similar fate, though the blonde female clung to the front end of the bumper for several seconds before it slipped and was crushed by the weight of the truck. Its pulverized insides remained stuck in the grooves of the rubber tires as they spun wildly.
Lonnie let out a whooping cheer and grinned like a madman as he ran zombies down left and right. “Take that fuckers! Woo! Yeah! How’d that feel?” He pulled up alongside the crewmen and leaned over to throw open the passenger door. “Get in! Hurry up!”
“Lonnie? Man, am I happy to see you!” Rowan Brady yelled as his lips turned upward in hopeful relief.
He climbed in and scooted all the way to the middle to leave room for one more crewmember in the cab. A muscular Latino man with a goatee reached his hand for the seat to pull himself in, but something had ahold of his leg. He yelled out as the thing took a chunk of his calf and ripped the flesh and muscle away with its teeth. A thick spurt of blood shot out from the wound and drenched the thing’s face and chest as it chewed thoroughly.
“Torres! I got you, brother!” Rowan leaned over and reached out to the wounded man, but couldn’t get a grip on his sweaty hand.
“Don’t leave me!” the man yelled out, his voice breaking off in anguish as two more of the undead joined to feast on his legs, pulling him further down to the ground and away from Rowan’s hands.
The cry was unbearable to listen to. Lonnie’s insides twisted up into a pretzel knot until he could barely take in a breath. How long could someone live while they were being ripped apart and eaten alive? One minute? Two minutes? Ten minutes? He felt nauseated just thinking about it.
One of the things pulled itself up and sunk its teeth into the tender part of the man’s shoulder where it met his neck. His cries turned to garbles as his life force drained into the mouth of the ravenous creature. He choked on the blood as it bubbled up his throat and out his paling lips.
The monstrous thing’s eyes rolled back in its head as the blood washed over its tongue, like a shark in a feeding frenzy. Its jaw worked on the shoulder relentlessly. It never pulled away to swallow or take a breath. It just kept feeding.
Lonnie was mesmerized, lost in a stupor of red. His hands fell from the steering wheel as he watched several sets of hands dig into the gaping neck wound of the poor man and tear out muscles, veins, and tissue. They shoved the sopping meat into their mouths with fervor. The wet sound of their lips smacking echoed in Lonnie’s ears until he thought he would lose himself all over again.
His vision started to fuzz. The sight of the small horde devouring the man called Torres felt further and further away, like a grim light at the end of a black tunnel.
Not now, he told himself. Don’t do this now. If you do, you’ll die. You can’t give up now. Another voice inside his head argued. If I let go then I’ll be more equipped to fight, to get us out of here alive. All those years I suffered abuse from my son of a bitch father and never did anything about it. Look what I’m capable of when I let go and let the darkness take over me. I can defend myself. I can beat this!
“NO!!” Lonnie Lands shouted as the last throws of life twitched from Torres’s body. An expanding swarm of zombies threw themselves on him and worked to devour every last morsel.
Lonnie stepped on the gas and the passenger side door smacked one of the feasting dead across the back of its head, sending it rolling alongside the truck.
“What are you doing? Jacobson is still out there! We have to help them!” Rowan screamed in panic as he gawked through the back window.
“Consider him dead and thank God you’re still alive.”
Rowan’s brown eyes were as wide as bullet holes. His tanned face was streaked with dirt, blood, and tears. He watched in horror as the last man standing in the road was taken down with a vicious bite to the face that tore away his nose and right cheek in a spray of red.
“Wouldn’t want to be that guy,” Lonnie chuckled as he watched in the rearview mirror.
“His name was John. He was a friend of my dad’s. I’ve known him since I was ten years old,” Rowan said in a far off, distant voice.
Lonnie blinked a few times as he returned his gaze to the two lane highway laid out before him. “I’m sorry, man. I just meant…look, I just came from a close call myself. Lost my fiancé and my dad, so I know what it’s like.”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” Rowan adjusted himself on the seat to stare blankly forward. “How’d you find me, anyway?”
“I didn’t. You just happened to be where I was headed.”
“And where are you headed?”
Lonnie didn’t answer. He only stared ahead. They were driving down a stretch of untouched highway—no zombies, no people, no cars. For a moment everything felt like it used to. Lonnie was sure if he turned around he would find his dad drunk in the Lazy-Boy chair in the living room, Amy dolling herself up in the bathroom for an early Sunday dinner date. But deep down he knew nothing would ever be like it used to.
Something in the tree line caught his eye. A female with long dark hair sauntered out in front of the truck fifty yards ahead. The closer the old Ford approached, the more Lonnie’s mind played tricks on him. He saw Amy’s face in the monster’s, but not the same face he’d seen just minutes ago. It was the smiling face he had looked forward to seeing when he woke up every single day for the last eight years. The face that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The face he couldn’t save.
IX.
Lonnie Lands pulled into the dirt driveway of a ranch home about three miles from the horde that almost made a meal o
ut of Rowan Brady. The young man in the passenger seat was still in shock, his eyes unblinking and his hands shaking noticeably. Every few seconds Lonnie caught himself stealing glimpses of his new friend from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going to be an asset to survival or the thing that got him killed. Was it worth the risk, keeping him around? They were about to find out.
He stopped the truck and turned it off. The grumbling engine died out and left them in heavy silence. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anyone around to attack them, though the house was surrounded by thick pine trees making it hard to see anything. Were the small movements in his peripherals more of the infected or were they just leaves blowing in the hot summer breeze?
Lonnie grabbed the rifle that sat in the middle. He took out the cartridge and turned it over in his hands. In his blackened haze earlier, he wasn’t sure if he had used the gun at all. By the state of his father’s smashed in face, it looked like he’d used the butt of the gun, but had never fired off a shot to kill him. By the weight of the cartridge he could tell there were still a few bullets left, but how many he didn’t know. He took a deep breath as he stared up at the ceiling of the cab and slammed the magazine back into place.
The entire time, Rowan studied Lonnie as he wrung his sweaty hands in his lap. Lonnie was only acutely aware of the man’s thin brown eyes locked on him. He was more focused on the task at hand. They needed to find shelter.
What little training he’d gotten from Army boot camp turned on in his head like a light switch and blocked everything else out, helping him to map out every possible scenario they could encounter in going up to the house they were parked outside. He hoped for the best case—to find the house already empty, abandoned by its owners. Luck had never been on his side, though.
“You’re probably going to need this,” he said as he leaned over and opened the glove box. He shoved a 9 mm pistol into Rowan’s shaky, wet hands.
The scared man let the gun lay in his palms like a baby bird, afraid to move at all. He stared down at it as it rattled in his hands.
“It’s loaded,” Lonnie assured him. “But only use it if you have to. What’s in the gun is all we got.”
He opened the driver’s side door and hopped out. The hinges of the truck creaked and echoed through the clearing until the sound was lost in the trees. If anyone was still inside the house, they already knew Lonnie and Rowan were there.
“Come on,” Lonnie said as he walked around the front end. “Let’s see what we’re dealin’ with here.”
Rowan got out of the truck slowly with a firmer grip on the small gun. He tucked it into the back of his dirty jeans and followed Lonnie’s lead up the steps of the porch and to the front double doors. For a moment the two men looked at each other, each one giving one last thought to if going up there was their only option.
Lonnie raised a fist and knocked. The loud noise contrasted with the peaceful surroundings, far enough away from the chaos that ensued further up the road that nothing could be heard except the birds in the trees. There was muffled movement inside. Faint sounds of people whispering could be heard. Lonnie gripped his rifle in both hands and held it at across his chest, finger on the trigger guard.
The door opened a crack and part of an older man’s face appeared. “What the hell do you want?” he grumbled.
“We were hopin’ to find shelter here, sir,” Lonnie said, his voice softened and polite.
The man’s eyes fell to the weapon readied in his stubby hands. “Let me talk it over with the Missus.” He disappeared into the house and closed the door behind him. There came the distinct sound of a heavy deadbolt being locked.
“You think they’re going to let us in?” Rowan whispered into Lonnie’s ear from behind him.
No response.
Rowan straightened back up to his full-height, which was at least five inches taller than the stocky man in front of him.
Lonnie felt the weight of the towering shadow cast across his back. Would he have to do all the work while Rowan tagged along for a free ride? Would Lonnie have to be the brains and the brawn while Rowan hid behind him like a little girl? These questions made Lonnie’s insides burn.
Both men flinched when the door was wretched open. They took a step back as the bearded old man took a brisk step out onto the porch. The barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun was pointed directly at Lonnie’s chest.
“Bad news, boys. You’re not gonna find no shelter here.”
Lonnie clutched the rifle harder to steady his wavering hands. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it exhale from between his thin lips.
He couldn’t lose control.
“We don’t want any trouble, sir. We’ll just be on our way, then.”
“You’re gonna have a hard time gettin’ around without that truck,” the man said through his thick, gray mustache, his lips barely moving, his puffy, wrinkled face stone cold stern. He held the end of the shotgun to his shoulder firmly with one hand while he extended the other out and flexed his fingers.
Lonnie sighed. His shoulders sank and his head lolled slightly to one side.
“Come on now, boy. I don’t got all day!”
Lonnie’s blue eyes narrowed to thin slits. Boy. He never thought he’d have to hear that again. His mind raced while his face remained unflinching. What were the chances of him shooting the old fuck dead and them making it out of there alive? How many people were standing behind the door to back him up in case things went south? There were too many unknown variables. It was too big a risk.
Lonnie reached into his front pocket and handed the keys over.
“Atta boy,” the old man’s mouth parted into a sparse, toothy grin. “Now get before I send you out there with nuttin’ to defend yerselves!”
Lonnie stayed rooted and locked eyes with the old, decrepit man. He studied his face and memorized every groove in his weathered skin before he turned and walked down the stairs. He wasn’t planning to seek revenge, but if he ever saw that old fuck as one of those things, he wanted to make sure he was the one to take him down.
Rowan followed at Lonnie’s heels. He looked over his shoulder to watch the old man standing in the doorway with his gun still aimed at their backs. His spine tingled with an overpowering fear.
‘Stupid, fucking, piece of shit, old—” Lonnie grumbled as he stalked off down the dirt driveway again, leaving what little he had packed in his Army bag in the cab of the old blue Ford.
X.
Rowan Brady drew the pistol Lonnie had given him and aimed it at the chest of a snarling, bloodied living nightmare as it drew closer with fumbling steps. Its dead eyes were locked onto his, its mouth already going through the motions of chewing as it prepared to sink its teeth into his firm muscles.
He wasn’t a good shot. No matter how many times his father took him out hunting with him, he was never able to hit his target, especially when it was moving. He closed his left eye and locked his elbows to steady his wavering arms. Sweat ran down the side of his thin face.
Fifteen feet. The thing shuffled forward and raised its arms.
Ten feet. It opened its mouth and let out a sickening garble that ended in a hiss.
Five feet. Its arms were inches from Rowan’s throat.
He took a step back from the dirtied female and squeezed his almond eyes shut. His fingers wanted so desperately to pull the trigger, but his heart wouldn’t allow it. Maybe he wasn’t meant to survive in such a horrifying world.
A cold, hard hand brushed against his cheek. He took in a sharp breath and held it. Fingers streaked across his face as the thing let out a jolted, angry growl. Then came a thud.
When Rowan opened his eyes again he saw Lonnie Lands ontop of the monster while its jaws snapped at his tantalizingly close neck.
“No guns,” Lonnie said between heaving breaths. “Only as a last resort.”
He pinned the writhing creature’s arms down with his knees. It continued to thrash its body, even after the l
oud pop of its shoulders dislocating. Its ragged neck craned to try and take a bite out of Lonnie’s groin.
The stocky blonde didn’t flinch as the thing growled and snapped beneath him. Overwhelming confidence filled his senses until he beamed with it. He threw his head back and laughed at the sky, drowning out the sound of clacking teeth.
“Not today, bitch!” He pulled a pocket knife out and thrust it into its temple, rendering the monstrosity beneath him motionless, no longer a threat to him or anyone else left in the world. He pulled the knife out and wiped it on the bottom of his white tank top as he stared the thing in its sickening face.
This one wasn’t as damaged as the other ones. There were no visible signs of what made it the way it was. The face hadn’t yet turned pale and gray, the eyes still had a hint of green left in them as they only started the process of glazing over. Its spaghetti strap tank top and jean shorts were intact and barely stained. Its medium ginger hair remained braided on either side of its head. Lonnie studied it for another second, deciding whether it was Katie Gray from study hall freshman year or not. He couldn’t be sure.
When he stood up he noticed Rowan staring at him with a gaping mouth and wet eyes. “If you had pulled the trigger two things would of happened. One—that she-beast from hell would of sank her teeth right into ya. Wanna know why?”
Rowan didn’t give any indication that he heard a word Lonnie said. Tears continued to build up in his eyes until they spilled over the brim and down his tanned cheeks, one of which was streaked with the blood of the woman lying dead on the ground at his feet.
“Because you were aimin’ for the bitch’s chest. You gotta aim for their heads. Only way to take ‘em down. At least, that’s what I’ve found.” Lonnie paused to see if Rowan would acknowledge the wisdom he was imparting on him—a nod of the head, some word of agreement—but the man stood frozen like a deer in headlights. “And two, you shootin’ off that gun only woulda drew more of the fuckers out, no doubt. We woulda been surrounded and then we’d both been dead.”
Dead Beginnings (Vol. 1) Page 4