Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  The chain of zombies see the meal that has delivered itself to them, like a serpent it writhes closer. Those facing the other way look over their shoulders at the meat, they try to turn but can’t get their bodies to do so against their bonds, they are dragged along by the more able bodied of the trap. A winding line of death clumsily advances toward Archie.

  The hopeful escapee lets the door close. As the steel panel is pulled back by its pneumatic arm an odd clicking sound is emitted. Archie sees that Andry had rigged a box to it for some reason. The purpose reveals itself with a moan behind him. The woman had placed a device to release corpses into the hall upon using the door. The dead are among the shadows now, drawn to his light. More moans. Feet shuffle his way over the smooth floor. His back is against the wall as he waits for them to enter his circle of light. The lantern is on the floor, he’ll need both hands to fight them off with his stick.

  It was emotionally difficult to plunge the stick into Stephanie’s head, but Archie finds the first zombie to reach him harder to put down. He attempts to stab the sharp end into the corpses head, Stephanie’s was against the floor and he was able to strike the side where the bone is thinner, the dead man’s head flops away from the impact like his neck is made of rubber. He continues to approach in a lunge being so close to what he desires, undeterred by the deep gouge his food has made on his face.

  Archie backs away just in time, the zombie lands hard on the floor. With more on the way the survivor must jab quickly, using the floor to hold the walking corpse’s head still so he can drive the sick through his skull. Another enters the circle of light, a woman in blood stained hospital scrubs. As Archie reclaims his weapon she dives for him, he isn’t able to prepare his strike in time, only managing to put the pole between them.

  The broken pole is all that holds the zombie nurse at bay, she presses against it biting the air wildly as she tries to get her mouth as close as possible to Archie. Her insistence throws off his balance, causing him to fall back with the corpse on top of him.

  The nurse clutches his shoulders, brings her face closer and closer to him with surprising force like an over amorous lover. Her sad moans have turned to an eager pant. The others draw closer as he struggles with the woman, using all the might he has to keep her away, unlike her his strength won’t hold for long. He is trying to wiggle free but her weight holds him down, shifting allows her too much of an advantage as it risks him lifting his vulnerable head dangerously close to hers and inadvertently causes him to let up on his efforts to hold her at bay.

  His ankle is seized by cold gripping hands. He kicks and thrashes at the unseen zombies, but what gives him his motivation to escape is the sudden agony of teeth finding their way through his denim and into his flesh. With a burst of adrenalin he tears his leg from the starved mouth and greedy hands, his feet find the bodies and shove them away. He pushes the nurse off of him and reverses the pin like a wrestler, flipping her over with him on top. His knee is on her chest to keep her where he needs her so he can bring the stick down through her eye socket.

  Blood soaks through his pants once again, his own this time. The zombies that had grabbed at his legs are already on their feet from where he had pushed them. They approach, vacant eyes locked on him. One has already had a taste and wants more, blood stains his ghoulish, slack face. There are only two of them, Archie keeps his distance, and steps around the two he has already dispatched to draw the dead men over the bodies. With their attention so focused on him they trip over the corpses giving their prey the ability to act. He strikes like a viper, two swift movements render the threats inert.

  Exhausted, knowing he hasn’t much time, realizing that he will never leave this hospital, there is still one person who has a chance. His final act as a nice guy, with the last bit of strength he has left, he vows to free Gar.

  14

  Drifts of wind swept snow that had accumulated against the sides of buildings and in alleys have melted away to smaller piles that gleam under a thick shell of ice on this sunny March afternoon. Killer B has tracked the days in a calendar she keeps in her purse, it gave her a sense of normalcy when everything changed overnight. She made large Xs through the squares as they passed before going to sleep, corner to corner, marking the end of each day they have survived and the beginning of the next.

  Brown grass reveals itself more and more each day as the covering of snow disappears. The roads have cleared, rivers of water race along the curbs and down drains, nothing can stand in the way of the runoff as it carries trash and reroutes itself around fallen bodies. Hidden below the pure white surface of winter, the evidence of tragedy sprouts, the dead aren’t as easily erased.

  To gauge how much time they have left in the city, Rocky visits an old acquaintance, a man whose heart she has seen, and occasionally poked with a stick. The man was a patient at the hospital, had been under the knife when the world was turned upside-down, now he stands outside the hospital as he has all winter with his chest held open by gleaming steel devices. Rocky has been pondering what makes him tick, his shriveled organs that have been able to thaw quicker under direct sunlight where the others like him are still solid at their cores like frozen turkeys.

  “Well, Donny,” she addresses the dead man, his eyes have unfroze and today track her movements. “This is it. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

  She’s seen enough of Waterloo to have planned her route out of the city, found streets clear enough of stalled traffic and debris to use. Her original plan was to take the Washington Bridge North and follow the road until it met with the eastbound highway that could carry them all the way home. All winter there has been what looked to her like a serpent beneath the snow, long lines of cars that had tried to escape the carnage and never made it. Following the traffic she had found the most horrific wreck she has ever seen in her life, so devastating it wiped out the bridge completely. She’s since made a new plan, loaded their bus with supplies, and had Killer B mark the day on her calendar to make her feel important.

  Leaving Donny for the last time, not one for goodbyes generally, she cuts this one even shorter when the man twitches slightly. Just a joint coming loose enough for him to try and grab her, but without enough range of motion to be a threat. His insides quiver from the sudden jolt. She heads for the mansion, taking the long way through Shepard Park, wishing to enjoy the tranquil solitude of it all one last time.

  Sipping whiskey from a flask she watches tiny birds land on patches of dry grass. Unable to wait for the land to become rejuvenated, the sparrows peck at the ground in search of food. Large black birds have found perches upon corpses with the same goal. They protect and fight over their bounties, flapping and squawking at one another to find their own. There’s plenty to be had, lots to go around. By Rocky’s guess, in less than two weeks, all of them will be active once more, it’ll be their turn to search for food.

  As the world wakes up and the ground is exposed, Rocky has lost her ability to spot signs of life other than herself. She knows she hasn’t been the only one out scavenging, occasionally seen prints in the snow that were not hers, but never spotted another living, breathing person all winter. She avoided contact, but admits to herself that she was curious about the phantom survivor. Now she will never know who it was or how they’ve been getting by.

  “You’re tracking mud on the floor!” Killer B points out to Rocky as she enters with a bag full of last minute items for the road.

  “Christ, KB, give it a rest!” she counters. “I gave you a Swiffer for shit like this, besides we’re leaving. Who cares?”

  “Kelly Peel would care if she saw her house trashed. I just want to leave it how we found it.”

  “Really?” Rocky asks knowingly, her eyes peer over at the bag her friend has ready for the journey. “So, if I were to look in that duffle, I wouldn’t find anything of hers, would I? No keepsakes of our little stay here? Trinkets?”

  Guiltily, Killer B looks away. She wishes to change the subject and spots the handy f
loor mop Rocky had gotten her to ease the tension between their differing views on being a houseguest during an apocalypse. “I’ll just clean it. It’s fine.”

  Not satisfied with the easy victory, Rocky crouches over the bag but doesn’t look inside, she doesn’t have to. A smug look comes over her face, she looks up at her friend who avoids eye contact. Rocky just loves to make her friend squirm, she couldn’t care less if she has stolen anything from the house.

  “I couldn’t resist!” Killer B admits. “They’re Kelly friggin’ Peel’s Heelys!”

  They have enough room on the bus, no need to travel light. Rocky herself has been hoarding booze for the road. She just smiles at her friend and leaves the bag alone. The trip has her concerned, they are leaving a very comfortable situation and heading out into the unknown. She needs to relax and unwind, rest up for tomorrow. Rocky plops herself down in her usual spot near the fire, she is handed no cocoa today as Killer B is busy tidying up the evidence of their extended stay. Rocky cracks a beer instead.

  Letting herself melt into the faux bear skin rug she lounges on as her mind wanders away. She thinks about this city, the frozen wasteland she had ventured through, her thoughts become stuck pondering the tracks in the snow.

  Such small feet, she mulls over her never-seen neighbor. Could have been a woman. A child? This is going to bother her for a while, plague her mind. She has been able to ignore the facts up until now, now that she’s about to leave. The discovery of each path of prints was almost as reassuring as it was unsettling. Whoever was leaving them may have been a threat, but it was also a sign that not all was lost, it wasn’t just her and Killer B in the world.

  “Fuck,” Rocky mutters under her breath after a long sigh. The cynical woman that most would say wasn’t just rough around the edges but downright jagged like broken glass knows she’s about to announce something she’ll probably regret. “Hey, KB, as we head out tomorrow there’s something we have to do.”

  15

  “…My daddy calls him Chachi,” an imitation of a young girl’s voice by a seasoned soldier arises a burst of laughter from the younger men seated around him in Fort Eagle Rock’s crowded dining hall. Through the constant din of the large cafeteria of all the other folks talking and eating, a mother searches the mass of people for sight of her youngest son.

  “Why would you tell him?” her oldest asks. “Here?”

  “I don’t know,” she answers, genuinely unsure why she chose that moment to tell the boy that the man he had known as his father all his life wasn’t actually his father. He was told the truth about who his father actually was. He just abandoned his tray and ran off. “Did you see which way he went?”

  “Out,” Killian answers. He fills a roll with a scoop of his chili mac, a bite for the road. “I’ll go find him.”

  “I’ll come too,” Susan says about to stand. “I don’t want you both…”

  “Why don’t I just go? Talk to him,” the now thirteen year old suggests, leaving his mother to fret over many of her life decisions. He himself isn’t very happy with her regarding the news, feels it was unfair to his brother, his father, himself, and even Josh. The boy may be upset with his mother, but he is thoughtful enough to leave her with some hope, “He probably just ran ahead to the concert. I’ll go find him.”

  The night air is chilly compared to the mess hall, between the heat of the kitchen and all the combined body heat of the diners. Leaving the constant drone of so many people talking behind is nice. All’s quiet on the Western front, Killian thinks to himself as he searches the darkness for sight of Hippo.

  All their lives they were raised as brothers, though informed that they were actually half siblings. The news came as a shock to Killian and Hippo both that they in fact have the same father. Somewhere out there.

  Killian begins the trek to the recreation building on base where functions are held, where folks can play indoor sports or workout in the gym. The pool will be opening in just a few weeks once the weather decides to warm up and stay warm. The civilians have been growing bored despite the Army’s many activities, the Kelly Peel concerts are a welcomed addition.

  “There you are,” Killian says, spotting his brother sitting on a bench outside the rec center.

  “Is this one?” the boy asks, handing his brother a rock.

  “One what?”

  “A geode,” Hippo clarifies.

  All the geodes the older boy had opened with his father have been almost perfectly round, white in color, and deceptively light. This stone is none of those things, but he doesn’t want to tell his brother that. “It might be, you never know until you crack one open.”

  The news seems to have aged his brother beyond his years, the boy looks up at the starry night as if contemplating the universe. Killian sits down next to him, knowing the ponderings are much closer to home.

  “All those Father’s Day presents went to the wrong guy,” he whispers, sniffing back a tear. The last thing he wants to do is cry in public, he sat here as a means of stopping himself from crying at all. With all the people walking about, he knew he’d never let himself do it.

  Hippo has always been a very willful boy. He can be quite stubborn most of the time. Looking at his brother, Killian sees it for the first time, he sees his father in him, the stoic way he holds his pain in like every time Oz Johnson had dropped him back off with his mother. Swallowing the hurt so not to reveal any weakness to the world.

  “Do you remember when mom and Josh let me go with you and your…our dad for a few visits… before the restraining order?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I loved that,” he says softly, afraid his emotions may break through if he talks too loudly. It wants out, the sadness builds up like water behind a dam, the pressure is immense, but the boy is stronger. One deep breath, and a tightly clenched fist, reduces the strain into something more manageable. Anger.

  “I think he did too,” Killian admits. He tries to stroke his brother’s mohawk, comfort him in some way, but the younger brother just dodges the attempt at coddling. “I think, deep down, he knew.”

  “If he did he would have fought for me,” Hippo seethes, unsure where to direct his rage. “Doesn’t matter. She knew.”

  “You know mom just wanted to do what she felt was best for…”

  “I hope she dies,” the boy wishes, never wanting to see her face again.

  ####

  Susan can’t eat. She pushes her tray away in frustration feeling she has really messed up. Messed up not only her life but her children’s, though at the time she only wanted to make sure they had everything they could ever need. She thought Josh was the best option. The truth hasn’t set her free, instead it has condemned her to a very tense relationship with her kids, as if life wasn’t tense enough already.

  She’s thinks about her decision to leave her husband, a choice she often second guesses though could never change, especially now. Would it have been so bad to raise the boys in an uncertain life with a man with no direction? Oz was a good man and a great father, but he had no drive to better himself, no ambition for more. He’d rather clean toilets than deal with people and always said all he needed was her and Killian, even at the end of their marriage.

  Susan’s mind wanders to examples of what a kind hearted individual Oz was, a fact no one would have guessed from the outside. She thinks back to when they first became pregnant with Killian, they discussed how to bring the child up. One topic was the existence of Santa Clause, Oz felt strongly that they should keep with the tradition where Susan differed. They compromised, they would tell the child of the wondrous man that brings toys to all the good little boys and girls around the world, but if he should ever ask them if he was real or not, they would tell the truth. That day came, sooner than they thought, another kid in Killian’s kindergarten class spilled the beans. The boy was in tears when they picked him up that day, in the car he calmed enough to tell his parents what was wrong. He asked the question: Is Santa real?

 
; Oz and Susan looked to one another for a silent sign as to what to say. Susan just motioned for Oz to take this one since the dilemma was mostly his creation. The day had come at last, a day the large man had dreaded, and he couldn’t do it. Oz was unable to pull the trigger on Santa, allowing him to live on for a few more years, more importantly he let his boy have a little magic in his life.

  Susan chuckles, remembering how the hard, stoic man became such a softy when looking into Killian’s tear filled eyes. It was only about a year and a half later she told him she was leaving him. Her chuckle becomes a slight sob as her eyes well and burn, she wants to cry for what she did to him and her family. Staring down at her untouched food, she builds the courage to head out and face her youngest son, knowing she will deserve every ounce of hate he feels towards her. Before she can act she is ripped from her thoughts by screams of terror.

  People are darting for the exit as a thick cloud of red smoke fills the hall. The rolling haze overtakes those desperate to get out. People are pushed and trampled in the chaos, soon all are blind and confused. They yell for help, unable to find the doors. None of those that had made it out had the sense to hold it for anyone else, allowing the fog to thicken wall to wall. The lights overhead are blotted out, even if the panicked diners could see their hands in front of their faces in the smoke they wouldn’t be able to see anything else.

  Folks are rushing around, Susan is hit by a heavy body that topples over her. Her chest is crushed against the table painfully. The wind is knocked out of her but it isn’t fatal. She forces the flailing person off of her and drops under the table for safety, leaving the futile dashing to the others. The people cry out and scream, some call for order but it’s a wasted effort, once a group reaches this level of anxiety there’s no reasoning with them. She’s just grateful that her boys had made it outside before all of this. At least they’re safe.