Should Have Killed The Kid

by Frederick Hamilton, R.

  Come on, keep it together, he told himself as something that was a mix between a giggle and a belch exited his mouth.

  Why keep it together, Dave? This is all your fault, remember. You don't deserve to keep it together. Naomi's barbed voice forced another of the strange hiccups from him.

  'Oi. Davey-boy?' Marge's voice cut in and Dave managed to choke back a third hiccup.

  He quickly dropped his hands down to his side when he noticed that Marge was staring intently at him.

  'For fuck's sake, pay attention. Come on, I think the river's this way,' she said and pointed over to their right. 'See that, I think that's the bridge.' Dave squinted in the direction she indicated but he could only see blackness.

  He started as the kid's hand wrapped around his slick forearm and almost threw it off until he looked down and saw the wide eyes and the trickling tears on the boy's cheeks.

  He slipped the jar labelled bomb into his pocket – he wanted the shield one nice and close at hand – and wiped his palm on his sodden shirt before properly gripping the kid's hand. Then, side by side, they trailed Marge, who set the pace as they moved across the clear area to where more burning and demolished buildings lay.

  It only took a minute for the first taps to begin. By the time they'd moved ten steps into the area, shadows covered more of the shield than not and forced Marge to slow their pace. Dave told himself it was only due to the lack of visibility but couldn't quite convince himself of that fact. As soon as the first tapping had started he'd seen Marge physically wilt as though it wasn't the shield the things were pushing down on but the old lady herself. Her reliance on her cane grew with every step.

  Dave felt grateful that he couldn't see the old lady's face as they continued on. He couldn't help thinking that it was gradually pulling taut across her skull. Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore the occasional grunt she let out. Each one had him thinking it was the end. That she would collapse and writhe on the ground, the shield would melt away and as she withered before his eyes, the things would rush in and shred him.

  He tried his best not to picture it but the voices were there whispering over and over how it would be exactly what he deserved.

  They trudged on a few more minutes while the light inside the dome grew dimmer and dimmer. More and more of the creatures started to hitch a ride on board and the tapping became a constant tattoo that Dave tried his best to block out.

  'Shit!' Marge abruptly hissed and then stopped dead.

  'What?' Dave asked. Then, when she didn't immediately answer, he repeated his question in a higher, far more panicky voice, 'WHAT!'

  'Can't see fucking shit,' Marge coughed and Dave was horrified to hear how exhausted she sounded. She turned and he squinted through the gloom, trying to see if maintaining the shield had started to take its toll on her. The darkness had grown too thick for him to be certain, but he could see deeper shadows around her eyes and mouth. 'I think they might be on to us, what do you reckon?' Marge coughed again and barked a laugh. 'Shit, I was really hoping I wouldn't have to do this but, hey, I don't think I really have to worry about drawing more attention at this point, what do you reckon?'

  Dave's voice consisted of little more than a squeak now.

  'What didn't you want to do?'

  Once more he had to repeat it a second time before he got a response from Marge.

  'Shut up and fucking listen.' She moved in closer and hunched down in front of Will. Dave winced when he caught a clearer view of her face. He saw that some changes had definitely taken effect. It wasn't just his imagination either, he knew because of the way Will whimpered and gripped his hand tighter. 'There's going to be a really bright flash of light so I need you to close your eyes. Squeeze them shut nice and tight. Can you do that for me, Will? Yep that's the way. Now, cover them with your hands too.' The kid's hand slipped from Dave's. 'That's the way. Now you promise me no peeking, yeah? Good, because as soon as I am done, I will call for you, and as soon as you hear me call I want you to run, okay? Can you do that for me too, Will? Me and David will be running too so just follow us but first, it is important that you keep your eyes closed... Good kid...'

  Marge ruffled Will's hair and then stood up and returned to the centre of the dome. 'If you want to keep your twenty-twenty vision, you'd best fucking follow suit,' she added to Dave in a far less friendly tone and once more raised her hands above her head.

  Dave obeyed.

  In the complete dark his breath sounded harsh while a long second passed. Then another. And another.

  He was on the verge of opening his eyes to see if everything was alright when he felt a surge of something ripple through the air. There was a bright flash, strong enough to be seen even with his eyes squeezed shut and an extra protective hand over the top. If he hadn't followed Marge's advice he imagined he'd be reeling on the ground right about now, his eyeballs seared from his skull.

  Oh fuck. What if she's dead? Dave's mind immediately went to work envisioning the worst. The flash wasn't immediately followed by Marge's command to run and panic clawed at his chest. Fuck! What if she's keeled over and I am just standing here like a dumb fuck with my eyes closed while the things race in to take care of business.

  That thought was enough to overcome any of Dave's other concerns. His eyes sprang open. Just in time for Marge to reel in close and croak, 'Run,' in his face.

  The brief glimpse was enough to let Dave know whatever she'd done had taken its toll. She looked like she'd aged about twenty years in a heartbeat but, as she dropped her cane, she still managed to move with startling speed. She turned and darted across the suddenly clear area.

  Dave blinked a few times, taking it all in. The shadows were momentarily vanquished, clearing the area around them. Dave could now see that they were in a park area that was bordered by rubble. There were flames ahead but they were nowhere near as strong as the ones that lay behind them. Marge was heading for the area to their right where a hint of tarmac was visible through an arch formed by toppled trees and street lamps.

  Beyond the arch another wasteland of destruction awaited and, at first, Dave was confused as to why they were heading that way. He looked up to the side and he saw why. About twenty metres to his left lay the Murray River, its brown water already starting to be infused with black shadows once more. And snaking above them about fifty metres further down was a bridge that spanned its length, leading to more fires on the far side.

  He looked from that back down to the kid and then realised that Will was doing a far better job of obeying the old lady's directions than he was. The boy stumbled, hot on her heels and they had a ten metre start on him.

  He decided to put a hold on further sightseeing until a more opportune moment. He set off after Marge, his tired body taking a few steps to coordinate enough for him to move with any form of pace. He caught up with them just as Marge squeezed through the arch and turned for a glance back while she waited for Will to follow suit.

  The black tide swept across the park in his wake, dousing it in shadows once more until Dave had no idea exactly where the grass ended and the river began. The sight had him scampering through after Marge, hurrying Will in front of him with a hand to the back. They emerged onto a tar footpath that snaked its way up a steep embankment, crisscrossing up stepped lines of cinderblock retaining walls. Though it was only a brief glimpse Dave got before the shadows swamped in again, drowning everything except the small circle beneath the dome in their darkness.

  At least this time they seemed to avoid the dome itself, once more flowing around it like a river.

  'Good, good,' Marge muttered, her breathless tone making it sound as though she was about to keel over on the spot. 'That ought to throw them off our scent for a bit.'

  She led the way and Will slunk back to Dave's side as they followed along. As soon as they took their first step on the upward gradient, Dave knew it was going to be a tortuous trip to the top.

  Ten minutes later, he was proven correct. All three of them we
re gasping and their pace had slowed to little more than a crawl by the time they reached the top. They were forced to pause for a second.

  Dave took the opportunity to study their surroundings by the glow of the nearby fires. Dave could see that once more his feet were on a road. Right in the middle of it, judging by the way the white line in the centre of the tarmac cut through the circle of clear space.

  Dave could only vaguely discern the road stretching into the dark ahead of them. If he squinted, he could just make out that the looming shapes ahead were trees as opposed to more rubble. Beyond them he could see the vague outline of something spanning a smooth stretch of black. He assumed it was the bridge over the Murray. Anything else was washed out by the glow from the fires.

  He peered for a long second but it didn't grow any clearer. Instead he looked back to the burning remains of Mildura that spread out around him and then to what he assumed was the far bank of the river where further destruction sprawled.

  It made him think.

  'How did you know that the bridge wouldn't be...’ He turned to ask Marge but stumbled when he took in her condition. After a brief struggle, he managed to force the last word out without too much of an awkward pause. '...destroyed?' before he trailed off with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

  Will apparently noticed Marge's metamorphosis at the same time. He whimpered and moved around until he was mostly hidden behind Dave's body.

  'I'll let you in on a little secret, Dave. I didn't.'

  Dave thought it might be a smile that Marge attempted but her deterioration made it impossible to tell. Her lips looked like shrivelled jerky pinned to her face and it was obvious her body had shrunk.

  'Pretty fucking lucky, huh?'

  Dave nodded as a reply, not trusting himself to speak.

  Surely she must know, he thought, surely she can feel it.

  If she did, Marge didn't let on. Instead she turned and hobbled forward down the road. Dave stayed where he was until he felt the nudge of the shield in his back, dragging him forward.

  'Come on.' He had to coax Will before the boy would move either. Even then the kid refused to venture closer than a few metres to Marge.

  They trudged forward, following the twisting white line at their feet through two sharp curves before Marge brought them to a halt again.

  Ahead of them the bridge stretched out in solid black lines that were slightly darker than the star filled sky around it. It looked ominous to say the least, and nothing like when Dave had crossed the last time.

  Then the trip across had taken all of half a minute, now it seemed to take an eternity. With each step, Marge's condition deteriorated. Dave could tell by the way her shoulders hunched and her movements became more spasmodic.

  He found himself lagging a little further back until he was right at the edge of the protective bubble once more.

  Dave was shocked when they reached the far side and stepped off into New South Wales without her collapsing. Shocked but not relieved. Although the bridge led to an area that was free of destruction, that just meant it was chock-a-block full of shadows. Dave didn't hold high hopes that Marge's shield was going to last much longer.

  He could feel something building in the dome that separated them from the creatures. Some sort of nervous energy building in the air.

  Something bad was going to happen.

  It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

  Dave just didn't want to bring things to a head quicker than he had to.

  Though, really, he knew it was inevitable.

  And ten minutes later, when Marge staggered to a halt and Dave saw how badly she'd degenerated, he knew the moment had arrived.

  During their walk, Marge had desiccated to a point where Dave found it difficult to believe there was any moisture left in her body. If anything she looked even worse than Monty had when the same thing happened to him. At least then, even if it had just been deep down, Dave had known what happened had only been a projection. The same could not be said now. Marge's degeneration was definitely happening directly in front of him. The smell alone was enough to tell him that. Even though he couldn't quite put the odour into words – something like a mix between rot and sweated leather, but that didn't really do its foulness justice – it nauseated him. It grew in strength, permeating the interior of the bubble while Marge swayed in place and stared at Dave.

  'What?' he asked. His question more an attempt to stall for time than anything else.

  Will's grip on his hand grew tight.

  'I'm not going to end up like Monty,' the thing in front of him croaked and Dave fought back nausea as the skin around its mouth cracked and the strange smell grew stronger.

  Will whimpered.

  'What?' Dave asked, this time because he really couldn't think of anything else to say.

  The glittering eyes were about the only thing that hadn't degenerated and the look they fixed him in made him want to curl up in a ball and die.

  After an extended stare, Marge didn't reply. She merely turned and trudged on a few steps while Dave stayed where he was until the shield nudged him forward.

  'Dave...' Will whispered as they were forced forward first one step then another.

  'What?' Dave murmured out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to Marge's shuffling back. His grip on the shield jar tightened.

  'What's wrong with–'

  Despite his best efforts, Dave couldn't help taking his eyes off the old lady to glance at Will.

  When the boy's words cut off in a quick intake of breath and his eyes grew wide, Dave knew he'd made a mistake.

  He whirled, just in time to see Marge spin again. He caught the glint as something slipped from the sleeve of her cardigan. A millisecond later he saw what it was.

  With speed that completely belied her current state, Marge abruptly sprang at him. The glittering metal blade that she'd used to dispatch the soldier sliced through the air, headed for his throat. For a flash, his mind froze and he briefly wondered if maybe he was just going to give up there and then and let her do what she wanted.

  Then his body finally responded, just in time to swerve to one side. He felt the blade bite into flesh, somewhere near his right shoulder but he barely even felt it. He swung blindly and Marge's skull made a horrendous cracking noise as he connected. The knife skittered away and bounced off the shield before cluttering to the tarmac.

  He hoped that it'd be a repeat of his brief stoush with Monty. Another lucky punch that would drop the old lady straight away. But despite the clear power that he connected with and her near mummified condition, Marge merely stumbled back a few steps and shook it off.

  'That all you fucking got?' Marge spat, her leathered lips cracking into a hideous and demented smile. Dave's stomach churned as he saw the divotted crater that topped her left temple. His fist had taken a hunk of hair with it as it connected and it revealed split skin that seeped brownish-black ooze he hesitated to think of as blood.

  Whatever damage he'd caused didn't seem to be slowing her down though. After a second's pause where those eyes glittered pure evil at him, Marge hissed and abruptly rocketed across the dome as though propelled by jets.

  'No–,' Dave finished the rest of the sentence internally, fair, as the old lady hit and sent him sprawling across the dome. He hit the barrier hard, twisted awkwardly after he realised mid air that the jar labeled bomb was still in his pocket and he did his best to protect it from the brunt of the impact.

  'STOP IT!' he heard Will squeal but barely had time to focus on it before Marge was above him. She grabbed a handful of shirt and, with impossible strength, levered Dave up a few centimetres.

  'Don't... the bomb...' Dave tried to protest but his words came out more of a blubber. A strange, swirling kaleidoscope of colours engulfed his vision, making it appear as though everything beyond the hideous visage was a blur.

  'Fucking hit a grandma, would you?' the zombie creature roared. 'Fucking need to learn some fucking respect
!'

  Dave doubted that pointing out she'd been trying to kill him at the time would have any effect.

  Marge opened her mouth and hissed at him again. The resulting wave of stench almost made him pass out.

  He didn't see the punch coming, just felt the result. His head ricocheted off the shield behind him, darkness briefly swirled his vision and he felt a wet pattering rain over his top lip.

  The jar in his hand rolled free, Dave could hear it rattling over the tarmac but felt powerless to stop it. His nose felt swollen to twice its usual size. His head reeled.

  Dimly, as he blinked the black away from his vision, he could hear Marge cackling away. But when he managed to peer through his tears, what immediately caught his attention was the stream of red that flowed past his eyes.

  He watched it for a second, completely confused until he traced its length to where it vanished into Marge's gaping maw, turning her cackling into a half-choking gurgle.

  Then in a thundering heart beat, it dawned on him what it was.

  My blood!

  He whimpered and tried to scramble free but Marge effortlessly held him in place and he had no option except to watch his blood drain across the gap.

  'MMMMMmmmHHHHhhhh.' The contented noise Marge made as she gulped made Dave want to vomit.

  He could feel the strength leaving his body as more and more of his life force was drained.

  He scrabbled, trying to reach into his pocket, some last minute plan to shatter the jar in his mind.

  He actually managed to ease the glass out but as he raised it, Marge paused mid swallow to laugh while the red splattered down her cardigan.

  'Ha, that only works on those things, you fucking moron,' she spat and Dave felt little flecks of his own blood speckle across his face. Her words came out clearer than they had previously and Dave quickly realised why. Some of the splits and tears in the taut skin had repaired themselves and in the few seconds that had passed since she'd started draining his blood, Marge had already started to look less like a mummified corpse.