Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  The boys head out of the bathroom. Their mother waves to them from the gas pumps, smiling proudly that she got the nozzle to work. She fills red canisters that she found in the market to save her another battle. The place was devoid of movement, she made certain to look around before letting her boys out of the car. Anything that might have been a threat had been eliminated, she instructed her children not to look at the bodies, especially not to look at the dead man on the motorcycle on the other side of the pumps.

  She couldn’t help but to gaze at the poor soul, his death was obviously self-inflicted. He shot himself after being bitten. Though she was sure that he was dead, she felt great fear when she reached past him to retrieve one of the many guns stuffed in his side car. She took an M-16 away from Killian once they found a car on Eagle Rock, but neither of them knows how to load it. They left it on ‘safe’ and stored it in the trunk. The .38 revolver she knows how to use, her father taught her when she was very young. The second time she explored the sidecar was a bit easier, after grabbing a box of ammo for the pistol she decided not to go in a third time.

  “Is this one?” Hippo asks his brother again and again, picking up rocks. “How about this?”

  “No,” Killian answers with barely a glance at the rocks his brother holds out for his inspection.

  “How about this?” Hippo asks.

  “No—Oh, wait!” The latest rock is whitish in color, almost perfectly round like a baseball. His brother had to kick at a patch of dirt to remove it from the ground.

  Hippo places the rock in his brother’s hand so he can judge the weight, geodes feel much lighter than regular rocks due to being hollow. Killian bounces it on his palm and smiles. “I think it…”

  “Boys!” their mother calls, waving emphatically for them to join her. “Hurry! Get in the car!”

  They look around for the immediate danger and see nothing, their slowness forces her to rush to them and take their hands. She hurries them to the car as fast as she can.

  “My geode!” Hippo protests when the rock falls to the ground. He pulls out of her grasp to retrieve it. Susan picks him up around his waist and carries him the rest of the way while he squirms in protest of the embarrassing display.

  “There’s a truck coming! We have to go!” she quickly explains as she shoves them in. “Buckle yourselves in!” she yells, racing around to her door.

  “We should see who it is…“ Killian suggests.

  “…before freaking out,” Hippo finishes the sentiment. He’s still steamed over being hefted like a small dog, but content that he was able to retrieve his alleged geode.

  “I’m not freaking out!” She starts the engine and speeds away from the approaching semi in the distance, hoping they haven’t been spotted. She may be scared, she may be concerned over taking care of her boys, but she doesn’t want to rely on anyone. She’d hate to trust another person just to be betrayed, or for her kids to become attached only to lose yet another person.

  “Mom, we can trust some people, you know,” Killian assures her.

  “Not according to all the movies I watched growing up,” she mutters, darting glances at her rearview mirror to see where the large, foreboding truck is. The tractor-trailer turns into the rest area they have just left.

  “What movies?” Hippo asks.

  “Horrible movies!” she answers quickly. “Set during times such as these. There was always people doing bad stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just play with your rock, Hippo.” Her nerves are shot, her hands tremble on the wheel. She needs the boys to be quiet so she can relax, return to her fretting over what they should do next.

  “I’m getting hungry,” Killian announces. He glances to his brother to see if he will join him in guiding their mother’s thinking. Hippo is busy actually doing what his mother asked him to, playing with his rock, pretending that it is a meteor flying through the sky. “I could really go for some fish.”

  “I like fish,” Hippo agrees, his eyes widen as he gazes at the small bumps on the object he found.

  “Fish sounds good,” their mom agrees.

  “With some lemon juice…” Killian leads. “Too bad the only fresh fish are in the ocean.”

  “And, ponds and lakes,” Hippo adds earning himself a nudge from his brother that warns him not to oversell it.

  “I bet there’s lemon trees in Florida. Didn’t Nanna Carol say that?”

  “That she did,” the mom says.

  Frustrated that she hasn’t connected the dots on her own, Killian will have to risk the suggestion. “I think we should go there, find a dock and take a boat just off shore. I doubt zombies can swim, could be the safest place to be.”

  “Florida gets hurricanes,” the mom shoots down the idea.

  “And, the Midwest gets tornadoes. California gets earthquakes,” her oldest reminds her. “At least if the weather gets bad on the ocean we can move up or down the coast, right?”

  “That’s true,” she acknowledges his logic with a nod.

  He hears his mother’s stomach rumble. Time to bring this home, he tells himself. “I’m just getting sick of living off junk food, some fruit would be nice. You once told me that a lot of diseases can be prevented by proper nutrition; scurvy, rickets, what else?”

  Hippo watches in awe as his brother works his magic, like a puppeteer. He holds his breath waiting for the hook to set and for Killian to reel her in.

  “Beriberi,” Susan adds to the short list making her youngest laugh. “No, Hippo, it’s serious. Usually seen in alcoholics with thiamine deficiencies, it can cause…”

  “So, all these terrible things can be avoided by eating the right foods?” Killian interrupts.

  “Yeah,” she responds, thinking about what they’ve been eating lately.

  “Did their mothers’ never teach them how important it is to eat fresh fruits and vegetables? Fish has a lot good stuff too, right? Omega-3s?”

  “That’s true,” she agrees. “All right. You win, we’ll head to Florida.”

  32

  “You’ve never been curious?” Rocky Roadkill asks in disbelief. “You’ve never wanted to get a ballpark on your numbers?”

  “Not really, Rocky,” Killer B answers the question again with a quick shake of her head as she drives their bus east.

  “I’m doing mine right now,” Rocky informs her friend from the floor beside her. She leans against the dashboard, facing the rear of the bus. Her knees are up and spread so she can rest her arms while punching numbers into a calculator they had discovered while syphoning gas on the outskirts of Sinclair. When she saw the device had every imaginable conversation she had an idea to pass the time.

  “Ok,” she says with glee having come to a figure. “If I have been with, on average, 6 guys a year since the age of 14…”

  “You started that early?”

  “Not by choice,” she answers as if the matter is nothing. “That makes: 204 guys!”

  “Gross,” Killer B blurts.

  “Not all of them were gross.”

  “That’s a lot, Rocky!” the sum is bewildering to the much younger driver.

  “It’s just an average, like I said ‘a ballpark’. Some years were probably less…”

  “And, some were more?”

  “Some were a lot more,” Rocky confirms with a laugh. “Let’s say, I was with each of them an average of three times, let’s play it safe and say four. Far too often they’re useless after they explode, but some can go on and on. Take into account the rare ones I keep around for a while, we get: 816.

  “Now, let’s get crazy. I take that number,” Rocky Continues, fascinated by her sexual arithmetic. “If each guy is on average 6 inches long…”

  “Rocky…” Killer B tries to protest.

  “4,896 inches! That’s 136 yards of dick!”

  “Jesus!”

  “That’s more’n a football field of cock!”

  “Rocky!”

  “Now, if each guy shoots and
average of…”

  “Don’t do this!”

  “6.375 gallons of goo! Can you imagine?”

  “No,” The topic turns Killer B’s stomach.

  “Let’s crunch your numbers!” Rocky excitedly cheers like a pre-teen on a sleepover. She’s interested in knowing her friend’s stats, but it’s Killer B’s discomfort that encourages her to continue.

  “Let’s not!”

  “Afraid your totals will be more than mine?”

  “I doubt I’d come anywhere close to yours,” Killer B declares.

  “It’s just for fun, KB, don’t be such a prude. We’re finally having a conversation I’m interested in.”

  “Yeah, a conversation I don’t want to be in.”

  “Well, it’s not all about you, is it? Besides, there’s no way these are super accurate, I’ve been with teeny guys I could barely feel, and I’ve been with guys as big as your arm. Some shoot loads so small I had to wonder if they did at all, others have completely plastered me.”

  “Come on,” Killer B whispers.

  “Exactly! Chin to forehead, ear to ear. I was…”

  “Not that,” Killer B slows the bus. “There’s cars ahead. Guys with guns.”

  Rocky rises fast to peer over the dash. She takes in what looks to be a roadblock, two cars have the path blocked. Four men wait for the bus to stop, rifles casually held with the barrels toward the ground. She’s often stated how lucky she was to be born a girl, how all a female needs is to be half-way decent looking to land virtually any guy for a night, even if he’s out of her league, without the ground work men require. Absolutely no heavy lifting. That was before the world changed. Now the power has shifted and her gender has become a commodity.

  “There’s a truck behind us now!” Killer B says with worry. She glanced in her mirror, about to reverse, only to see a truck roll in behind her. They’re trapped.

  One man exits the truck and walks around to the driver’s side. Rocky pulls Killer B out of the seat and takes her place, the shotgun King Bruce gave them on her lap with the barrel aimed at the door. “Stay outta sight, KB,” Rocky whispers. “If these assholes see you, mark my words, you’ll be adding almost a full yard to your tally.”

  The man behind them saunters toward the front of the bus on Rocky’s side, the other men hold their positions ahead. With her shotgun aimed where the guy will be standing Rocky isn’t too concerned. She slides her window open and peers down at the guy. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

  “My comrades and I,” he begins, “are in the area searching for supplies and survivors. We have a small encampment south of here in Georgia.”

  “So?” she makes it a question.

  “We saw the side of your bus, your derby logo, and got excited,” he explains. “One thing we’re searching for are women, a society needs women to continue the species.”

  “Good luck with that,” she tells him. “I’m not interested.”

  “What about the blonde that was driving? She interested?”

  “Not likely.”

  “We also think your bus would make an excellent troop carrier. We have rivals down south and a vehicle such as this would…”

  “No one drives this thing but us,” she reports flatly. “Tell your men to get the fuck outta my way.”

  The man looks uncomfortable, he glances over to the others he’s travelling with. One of them shouts over, “What’s the hold up, Kenny?” He assures his friend with a nervous wave that he hopes looks confident enough at afar.

  “Please step out of the vehicle,” he instructs Rocky.

  “No.”

  “If you don’t,” he whispers. “Those guys will open fire.”

  Rocky slides the window closed and sighs. “Stay here, KB. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  “You’re not going out there,” Killer B says with much concern.

  “I have to take care of this. Trust me, we’re gonna be great,” her assurance of greatness hasn’t always worked on Killer B, it certainly doesn’t work now. The younger of the two knows once those words are uttered there’s no changing Rocky’s mind. She has a plan and will see it through.

  Shotgun in hand, Rocky proceeds out the door. The men are converging on the bus with caution. The man she spoke with, Kenny as his crony addressed him, meets her. He stands by the front leaning on the hood, trying to look casual but Rocky can see he’s actually using the bus as cover. She follows suit lingering in the doorway.

  “Drop the gun,” one of the approaching men orders, his own rifle aimed at her.

  “Drop yours,” she retorts with a sour look and knitted brows.

  The men just laugh. “She’s got spunk. I like that,” one says. “Dibs on this one.”

  “Dibs?” Rocky shakes her head, insulted. “What am I, the last cookie? I’ll choose for myself, asshole.”

  “She’s right,” Kenny says with a smile. “Just like we agreed, a woman has the right to choose her mate. But, miss…” he waits for he to offer her name, when she just stares at him he continues, “…everyone needs to pair up.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” she says in earnest. “I just don’t see any of you being man enough to handle me. To be honest, I’ve yet to meet one that is.”

  “Are there any other ladies onboard,” another of the men asks, his tone is downtrodden by the rejection but hopeful.

  She figures there’s no use not revealing Killer B, the men have them out numbered. She just hopes her plan works, or at least they can beat these guys relatively unscathed. “KB, I want you to meet some folks.”

  The blonde emerges from the bus like an angel. Her timidity gives her the appearance of walking in slow motion like in the movies when the leading man sees that special someone. All that’s missing is the dreamy mood music to hit the right heart strings.

  “Dibs!” a few of the guys say at once and then squabble over who actually said it first.

  “Guys!” Kenny commands their silence. “Listen to yourselves! Let this lovely lady choose for herself… I will just throw this in, KB is it? I happen to be the leader, the king, so to speak, I…uh…would be honored to have you as my queen. Just saying.”

  Rocky keeps herself and the shotgun between the boys and her friend. “Hate to break it to you fellas, but the lady is spoken for. We both are.”

  “Really?” Kenny says with surprise. “By who?”

  “Each other,” Rocky reports. “This bitch is my wife.”

  They are speechless for a minute as they ponder the meaning behind her words. One of the men takes a breath once he puts two and two together. Another has already come to the conclusion and speaks his objection. “We have a set precedence of men being allowed to keep their current wives, but this doesn’t exactly mesh with what we’re building…”

  “Not that we have anything against same sex marriage,” Kenny interrupts.

  “Speak for yourself,” the man resumes, he’s larger than the others. His eyes remain fixed on the skinny, spunky woman and the blonde behind her. “We decided that every man would get a bride…”

  “Or, two should there be more ladies out there,” one of the others pipes in.

  “These two carrying on the way they are goes against the point, reproduction. Am I right? I say we make them choose a man, here and now.”

  “First, we never said we were joining you fucks,” Rocky begins a list with a cocky smile. “Second, propagating children should also be a choice in any free society, like America,” she uses patriotism in her favor, figuring these men wouldn’t be able to object too much if their country was used. “Because, third, it seems to me all I have to do, if I want to keep my lady fair, is prove I’m more man than any of you.”

  “You’re gonna fight me?” the man chuckles with disbelief. “Over her?”

  “Bet your ass,” Rocky hands Killer B the shotgun and strides with confidence to the imposing man. Standing toe to toe with him, he looms over her. She holds an index finger under his nose. “Know what this is?
It’s the closest you’ll ever get to her.”

  His eyes flare once he realizes her meaning, he back hands the smart mouthed woman across the face. Spun, Rocky can tell it’s not his first time striking a woman to put her in her place.

  “Easy, Dick!” Kenny says after the brutish display.

  The woman laughs after spitting a gob of blood onto the asphalt. “Now, that’s an ironic name.”

  “I’ll make you choke on it,” Dick growls.

  “Your name or your dick?” Rocky asks, facing him once more. “You ready for this?”

  Seeing that she isn’t going to yield, the large man takes his stance. His fists are up like a boxer with his legs apart as if he’s waiting for the bell to ring. Predictable, Rocky thinks with a sneer. She’s learned long ago that the secret to winning any fight isn’t size, strength or skill, it’s pain tolerance. If a person can take more than the other can dish out, they’ve already won. Having tasted his wrath, she knows that if she wants to be victorious she can’t let him touch her again.

  The woman makes the first aggressive move, striding within his reach with her hands at her sides as if she isn’t afraid of anything. Cocky, he jabs. The skinny woman proves to be extremely wiry and hard to connect with. She sways to avoid his fists until there’s an opening, he’s strong but keeping his mitts up tires him and causes them to droop. She punches him and follows with a risky knee to the groin. Getting up close and personal means he’s able to get his hands on her. She shakes off his trembling palms and darts away.

  Cradling his privates one handed, the other is up and ready to defend himself. The pain subsides leaving him seeing red, he charges like a bull. Rocky dodges him and hits him in the temple.

  The man is dazed, unable to open his eyes. Three quick jabs to the testes enter his blind world. He howls in pain, swinging his arms to clear her from his personal space. Sliding under his weak movements, Rocky uppercuts him in the arm pit. His arm falls to his side, instantly numb. He’s vulnerable, Rocky grabs his shoulders and drives her knee into his groin repeatedly, she doesn’t stop until she feels one of his testicles rupture.