Dying to Live

by Roxy De Winter

  “What do we do?” Frank asked desperately. The fiends in front of him were straying away from the road with intestine clenched in their fists and between their teeth, trailing them out behind them, still attached to their host’s body.

  “We can’t take them on, there’s too many,” Andy said shakily.

  “Even if we did, the guys in the truck are just as dangerous. They’d make sure we didn’t survive it,” Pete said, thinking rapidly.

  “Pete, switch places with me. Get in the front. I’m coming back there. I have a crazy idea,” Frank said, scrambling around his seat and the boxes behind it. Pete hopped over and settled into the driver seat as Frank routed deep into one of the crates. “Don’t ask any questions,” he declared, as he rose from the box with the grenade launcher in hand. “Pete, be ready to reverse when I say so.”

  Frank pulled himself through the sunroof and balanced on the edge, leaving only his legs visible to those inside the car.

  “Alright, pass it up,” Frank called down to Andy, who hurriedly thrust the grenade launcher up to him.

  “FIRE IN THE FUCKING HOLE!” He yelled sarcastically, as he pointed the ridiculous weapon and fired. There was a strange thwump and a dark ball sailed through the air. “Alright, Pete! Now!”

  The vehicle flew backwards and Frank clutched the roof to prevent himself from tumbling from his perch. He managed to catch sight of the grenade disappearing straight into the back of the truck and felt exhilaration flush through his system.

  “Wooooooooooh! Yeah!” He cheered.

  “You crazy bastard!” Pete howled. Their vehicle was still cruising backwards and the truck in front of them was growing further away. The dead were only just noticing and beginning to rise from their meal.

  The explosion was phenomenal. The deafening boom of the blast frightened Lucy from her sleep. She was looking around, dazed and confused when Pete jerked the car to a halt. Orange flames mixed with thick black smoke and encased the vehicle. The whole truck was blown from the ground before crashing back down. Plumes of fire and smoke engulfed everything and hid much of the scene from view. Zombies were flung backwards in the blast, with fire clinging to their bodies. Shrapnel rained down and even a couple of nearby trees smouldered. The other men ran from their cars which they had parked beside the truck. The fire claimed the first one with a second quaking explosion. One of the men was lifted from the ground mid-run and thrown far over onto the railroad. Two of the others were jumped on by oblivious and unaffected zombies. The second car blew in quick succession to the first, shaking the ground again.

  “I told you! I fucking told you!” Frank cried, jumping back down from the sunroof.

  “What the hell just happened?” Lucy asked groggily. “Is that the stupid grenade launcher?”

  “Not so stupid now by all accounts!” Frank grinned massively.

  “Oh my god,” She sighed, rubbing her head.

  24.

  ‘I heard the explosions from the motel. They rang out through the night, breaking the silence and making my heart leap. The first blast was the worst. It rattled the panes of glass in the windows. The second and third came closer together, but with a little less kick to them. I was sat at James’ bedside, dabbing a damp rag over his brow as the fever burned him from the inside. The noise startled me and I dropped the cloth on the pillow beside James’ head.

  “Mary?” He called out to me raspingly. I couldn’t tell if he was lucid or if it was just words slipping through from his feverish nightmares.

  “It’s okay, James,” I tried to sooth him. “Get some rest. I’m just going to go and see what that blast was. I won’t be long.”’

  Mary shut the door to their modest living quarters and hurried out, pulling a flannel robe around herself. Her slippers slapped their way across the linoleum of the reception and the bell over the main doors jingled when she stepped out into the night air. The smell of smoke was suffocating. It clung to the breeze and mixed with the sickening stench of burning rubber and barbequed meat.

  “Mary?” An elderly voice called out. Dorothy Smith was hobbling over the parking lot towards her. “Mary, what was that?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs Smith. You should go back inside. Stay with Bobby and I’ll come and see you when I’ve checked it out.” Mary barely paused as she strode on, leaving old Dotty to shuffle back to her room. She was just approaching the main road when she was called again.

  “Mom! Mom, go back inside!” It was Andy. He jumped from the back of a military vehicle, which she recognised as belonging to the guests they’d welcomed that day. “It’s not safe out here!”

  “Andrew, what’s going on? Where’s the smoke coming from?” Mary asked him, ignoring his frustration.

  “Andy, grab one of these! Come on, they’re heading this way!” One of the others shouted, brandishing some kind of machine gun.

  “Mom, please! I have to help them. Go inside, lock the doors and be safe.” Andy gave her one last look and ran back to the vehicle, where the blonde girl passed him a gun.

  “Andrew!” Mary yelled after him. “You be safe too, do you hear me?”

  He looked back and nodded lovingly at her, before setting off down the road. Mary’s gaze reached out ahead of him and a lump formed in her throat. There was burning carnage in his path and the crawling, limping, burning bodies of the undead fixated on him with determination.

  “Lord, you keep him alive. Please, protect him,” Mary prayed, crossing herself from head to chest and shoulder to shoulder. An awful feeling of inadequacy and futility hung in the pit of her stomach like a rock. She turned back to the motel, still begging God to watch over her only son. Her legs felt weak and her hands shaky as she worried. Her mind grasped at the hope that he knew what he was doing and that the others would look out for him. They seemed like the type who would.

  When the first gun shots fired out, she paused and closed her eyes, hearing them echo in her head. When she opened her eyes again she dashed back to the reception.

  “Mrs Smith, are you alright?” Mary asked with concern, when her attention was drawn to a crumpled figure sprawled on the solid concrete. “Dorothy?”

  The figure didn’t stir at the sound of her name being called. The old woman’s eyes were closed and rattling breaths wheezed in and out of her parted lips. Mary rushed over and knelt stiffly beside her. She placed a hand on her shoulder and gently tried to rouse the old lady.

  “Mrs Smith, can you hear me? We need to get you up and take you inside.” The old woman’s eyes began to roll into the back of her skull and her body went rigid. Her small frame thrashed and shook. Great spasms took control of her body as Mary clung to her. She tried to hold her in place and stop her from hurting herself on the hard ground as the seizure ran its course. Eventually it began to subside into a more manageable trembling, before Dorothy became still again. Mary let out a sob of panic, not knowing what else to do she called for help. She called again. And again.

  Nobody heard her, or if they did they didn’t come. Everyone was either too busy or too scared. Mary struggled to her feet, fighting against her aging joints and their screaming protests. She was about to lean down and attempt to drag Dotty to the safety of the reception. Her attention, however, was drawn over the lot to a flickering of flames. A burning figure had managed to work its way around the back of the buildings. It was shadowed by a blackened and smouldering accomplice.

  Mary stumbled backwards, falling painfully on her behind and scrambling to find her feet again. She looked down at poor Dotty and fought back tears. There was nothing she could do to save her now; any efforts would surely result in both of their deaths. Mary choked back her tears and ran. She screamed in desperation and urged her arthritic legs not to give out on her just yet. She crossed the lot and threw herself at the door to the reception. Her hands fumbled for the handle and she hurled herself inside. Mary clicked the latch down on the door and took a few steps backwards until she bumped into the main desk. Hideous faces came into view throu
gh the glass, twisted and angry. The closer they came the better Mary could see. Their skin was black and blistered; in place it was peeling away and revealing the raw, red flesh beneath. One of the two had been wearing a leather jacket, pieces of which were still recognisable, but flames licked at it and patches had burnt right through to the plaid shirt beneath. The other was missing a clump of hair which had frazzled away, replaced by the black smudges of soot which stretched across its face and appeared in patches on its clothing too.

  Mary screamed some more as the animated corpses smacked themselves into the glass. They seemed furious and confused by the transparent barrier that prevented them from getting to her. Again, they lurched forwards, ramming the door. The third time, a crack appeared. It started in the centre of palm that was slammed into the glass and began creeping outwards. Mary watched, horror stricken, as another whack caused a spider web of cracks to appear.

  25.

  ‘I don’t know how many there were in the back of that truck, but the bodies were everywhere. We’d gunned down what felt like hundreds of them.

  “Is that all of them?” Frank called to me from across the road, where he had just put a bullet between another pair of dead eyes. I didn’t know how to answer him. It looked like the last of them but who knew how many could have slipped past us?

  “Let’s spread out and double check,” I told everyone.

  “Yo, Pete. I’m gonna go check back at the motel. You know, make sure my mom’s okay,” Andy stated and I nodded back to him.

  “I’ll come with you,” I told him, shouldering my machine gun and following close behind.’

  Pete and Andy walked guardedly back down the road, surveying the damage. The motel was only a few minutes away and a thick smog still hung in the air. There were scorch marks and blood marring most of the surrounding area; bodies were slumped by the side of the road and debris littered the ground around them. Neither of the men had ever seen a real war zone, but imagined that it probably looked and smelled similar to what they were experiencing.

  Their silence was broken by a van speeding past them, heading towards the scene of the explosion.

  “It’s about time someone from city hall came down to help. Pity they’re too late,” Andy frowned bitterly. “Small town folks are all the same. They talk a big talk about sticking together and being such a tight community, but they’re all just cowards.”

  “Go easy on them, kid. It’s a tough situation they’re in. None of us really know what it is that we’re supposed to do,” Pete said sympathetically. He understood why the boy was angry, he had just seen one of his friends die and Pete could sense the aura of worry for his family that emanated from him.

  “Really? Because it seems like you guys have a pretty good idea of what to do,” Andy sighed. “Sorry, I just hate it here. It’s not like I’ve ever fitted in, at least not until the world fucking ended and I was suddenly useful. I never wanted to go to church, I drink and I smoke, I only stick around here because of my family. I didn’t want to leave them behind. It’s funny, up until now I was pretty much shunned by them all, but it turns out that when everything goes to shit they’re happy to have me defend them. Then these guys decide to turn up once the fight is already over, as though they didn’t hear the explosions like a half hour ago.”

  Pete said nothing. It sounded like Andy just needed to vent his frustrations and, in truth, he wasn’t sure what to say in response. It didn’t seem right to take a side when he had no idea if what the boy had said was true. Pete liked him, though. He was tougher than he looked, and not afraid to dive into the action. Andy struck him as the kind of guy who had a point to prove. He wanted to succeed at something; even if it was just as a big ‘fuck you’ to the people he was speaking about.

  The Shady Motel’s green sign loomed in front of them as they turned onto the forecourt. Andy immediately let out a sharp breath and Pete was quick to see why. A small, elderly woman lay just yards away with a zombie crouched beside her, elbow deep in her guts.

  Andy raised his machine gun and stormed across the lot. The zombie didn’t have time to fully process the movement, it merely snapped its head around and was greeted with a face full of burning metal. The bullets ripped through it and it toppled sideways. Andy lowered his gun and with grim determination, turned towards the reception.

  “Fuck!” He breathed fearfully, setting off towards the shattered door at a sprint. He skidded a little on the smattering of glass shards and grabbed the door frame for support.

  “MOM!” He bellowed, his deep voice reverberating throughout the building. The only movement, in the wake of his call, came from where he had just shot and killed the zombie. Pete watched in disbelief as the frail old woman managed to push herself up, on two arms, into a sitting position. Her pale eyes settled on him. Her cloud of white hair was streaked pink with blood. A grin spread across her face and after a couple of attempts, she managed to find her feet. The moment she was upright, a tangle of internal organs dropped from her with a heavy, wet, splat. The first steps she took were wobbly, and her own intestines threatened to trip her as they trailed out behind her. Pete screwed his face up in revulsion as he fired out a round, straight into her brains. The eruption of her ruined head did little to improve his distain, but he was glad to see her crash to the ground in a more permanent state of death.

  When Pete looked up, Andy was nowhere to be seen. He knew where he would find him, though. Pete made for the doors and stepped through the mess, careful not to slash himself on the sharp fragments that hung in around the frame.

  “Andy?” Pete called out tentatively. “Mrs Miller?”

  There was no reply, but moments later gunshots rang out along the hallway. The sound seemed to come from right at the back of the building. More small bursts thundered out as Pete lurched behind the desk and hastened to their source.

  “Andy?” He yelled again, louder this time. “Are you okay, bud? Talk to me.” He pushed through a door in the lounge and found himself in a hallway. Pete paused to listen. He heard a faint sniff from behind a door to the left, but before he reached it, Andy emerged. He was red eyed and rubbing the back of a hand under his nose.

  “Let’s go,” Andy said quietly.

  “Is everyone...?” Pete struggled for words. Today seemed to be getting the better of him, he thought to himself. Trying to pull it together and offer some support, he tried again. "I’m so sorry, mate...”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s taken care of. Can we just get out of this damn place?” Andy spoke with a dead voice.

  “Sure thing. Come on,” Pete gestured for Andrew to lead the way and patted his shoulder as he passed.

  Back outside, they found the others waiting in the car park for them. Frank had brought the car back around and was leaned on the front of it. Lucy was perched sideways on the passenger seat with her door open. Her head rested sleepily against the seat and her legs hung out of the side of the vehicle. Xin stood by the door talking to her and explaining the finer details of what had happened. Harry stood towards the back of the typhoon, keeping an eye on the road.

  When they approached, everyone looked up. Pete shook his head infinitesimally. Harry and the girls quickly averted their eyes from the brave, tear stained, young man. Frank’s eyebrows sunk sympathetically down his forehead. When Pete and Andy were close enough, he reached out and placed a hand on Andy’s upper arm.

  “You did good out there,” Frank squeezed his arm slightly as he said it. “I’m really sorry, bro.”

  “Thanks,” Andy said in that dead voice. This time it quavered, as more tears escaped from his blue eyes.

  “C’mere, man,” Frank said quietly, pulling the arm he gripped and offering Andy a hug. The young guy braced an arm around Frank, the other hung limply at his side holding onto his gun. A single sob left his body. He was a little taller than Frank was, but his forehead drooped with pain and misery onto Frank’s shoulder. Frank gripped the back of Andy’s neck tightly for a few moments and
then they parted.

  “So, are you coming with us?” Frank asked.

  Andy’s bottom lip jutted out a little, as he pulled himself up straight and nodded once; yes. He wiped his eyes roughly and then pushed his hair back from his face.

  “If you don’t mind,” Andy added.

  “Of course not,” Pete spoke up. “We’ll need to fill you in on a few things, though. Let’s get out of here first.”

  26.

  ‘”Faster... Faster... Hurry...” The message reverberated inside my head. A vibration, an echo... Maybe something else entirely, but it was there. I felt overwhelmed by the feeling, the urgency that was pumping the very blood through my veins. We were running out of time. We had to get there. I didn’t know what it meant, where we were going, or how long we had to get there, but I could sense that we were on a timer that was ticking down with each passing second. I tossed and turned a couple of times, straining to hear. There was no more, though and I awoke with a gasping breath, lurching forward in my seat as gunshots clawed at my eardrums.’

  “Don’t worry, Xin. We aren’t stopping. We just hit the next town and evidently they weren’t as prepared as Caliente was. The guys are clearing the way a little,” Lucy called, noticing that Xin was awake.

  Andy and Harry had the gun ports in the side of the truck open, their gun tips pointed through, firing rapidly. The truck was moving much too slowly compared to Frank’s usual speed. Looking through the tinted glass of the windscreen into the blackest of nights, all that Xin could see were the faces that the headlights illuminated.