Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  Rocky watches as the space between them and safety fills with a growing throng of dead, dead the likes of which she has never encountered, fast, certainly ravenous. They have come all this way just for their trek to end on this overpass, rotting until they are noticed. “It can’t end like this,” she says to herself.

  Killer B watches the pair in the lot as they make their desperate dash towards safety, she’s enthralled, hopeful for them despite her own hopeless situation. The two dark figures in the spotlights cast long shadows behind them as they race from the pursuing dead. The gate to the park inexplicably taunts them, opening partway only to drop again. It rises once more and stays up long enough for a tall, long vehicle to speed out and circle the exhausted survivors. Music blares as if lending the scene a soundtrack.

  “Is that Twisted Sister?” Rocky asks no one in particular, the distance making it hard to decipher.

  The bus opens fire from along its top and middle, guns blaze down the entire length, their muzzle flash an inferno in the night as they unleash a fierce salvo of thunderous automatic fire.

  The barrage of bullets holds back the throng long enough for the two runners to be loaded on. They are whisked to safety. The bus fires from the back to ensure the dead can’t follow them into the park. Further assurance is gained when folks step out from inside the place and launch rockets at the dead, the fireballs that erupt light up the carnage. Though devastating, the attack is merely a drop in the bucket against the massive swarm, there’s still so many in the writhing sea of death.

  “They’re all right!” Killer B whispers a cheer, almost forgetting that they need to be silent. She turns to Rocky with a smile. “They made it!”

  How can she be so happy for them when she’s where she is? Rocky asks herself. That’s my Killer B.

  “There’s no way we’ll ever get through all that,” Killer B says, defeated, the hope she had for the strangers has used up any she may have had for herself.

  Rocky can’t stand when her friend loses hope, when the light of optimism she shines on the most dark of situations becomes dashed. “Tighten your skates, KB. Put your helmet back on,” Rocky tells her, handing her the heavy bag she offered to lug for her during their trek.

  “We can’t go down there!” Killer B responds in an excited whisper, though she still does as she has been told.

  Rocky ignores her for the moment. She unslings the assault rifle and hands that over as well.

  “Rocky,” Killer B probes. “We can’t go down there.”

  “No. You can’t,” Rocky agrees, tightening here own skates with vengeance. She slips into all her pads. “Not yet anyway.”

  “What is this?” Killer B asks, not liking where this is heading. “You can’t do this.”

  “I do what I want, you know that,” Rocky stands to stretch out her muscles. “I’m going to run this jam like a ruffie, catch ‘em off guard, find a hole to exploit, force my way in and keep going as fast and hard as I can until I’m done.”

  “Rocky, that was eloquently disgusting, but you can’t do this…”

  “Just look for an opening,” Rocky says, ending the debate. Her mood has shifted, saddened to a very tender tone. “Get yourself to that castle, these bitches too, but mainly focus on yourself for once.”

  Killer B rises to look Rocky in her amber eyes, she trembles at the thought of saying goodbye forever to her longtime friend. They are close enough to whisper their farewells to one another, each feeling the sad tension build in their chests.

  “Rocky, I…” Killer B begins to say, unable to find the words to convey how she feels at this moment. Neither can Rocky who simply meets the blonde’s lips with hers, pulling her close by her hips. Rocky shows tenderness she has never displayed for anyone, kisses Killer B like she never has another, not a passion fueled ravishing but with depth and love.

  Killer B is stunned. Rocky pulls away, letting their foreheads rest together for a second. “We would’ve been great.”

  Rocky leaves her friend, pushes hard to launch herself down the ramp heading toward the park and the legion of frantic corpses. Once she achieves her maximum velocity she tucks down to reduce wind resistance and barrels down the incline. Not one to open her heart, she feels raw and vulnerable, these emotions are of no use to her now so she converts it all into anger. She lets herself think about all the time she is losing that could be spent with Killer B, the anger is magnified into pure rage.

  Her current speed, combined with the power of her legs as she stands, increases the might of Rocky’s uppercut as she punches the first corpse she comes to. The zombie is off its feet. The dead have spilled out of the lot and are sprinkled throughout the roads once meant to let folks drive to and from the parking area of the theme park. Witnesses to the surprise assault on one of their own howl and chase the quick human, all are soon alerted to the presence of food. Though not enough for all of them to share, they want to try and get a piece all the same.

  Rocky weaves and darts between the dead as they lunge for her. She hits them with her gloved hands, always looking ahead to see where her next move will be, if there is one to be had. Howls and Shrieks spread through the vast throng, so tightly packed they are pushing and shoving in their efforts to get closer to the morsel they can’t even see. Soon they are all moving. Slow at first, a mere jog since they can’t get ahead of the many in front of them. It looks like the start of a marathon. Spaces grow in the herd allowing longer strides, the collective speed of the mass increases.

  Killer B watches the area where she had lost sight of Rocky in a state of complete shock, her friend and captain swallowed by the shadows. She loses any sense of time and fails to notice just how long it is taking the mass of running ghouls to clear the way for her and the others to head for the same gate that let in the other survivors. The dead just keep surging past in a never ending train, like a protest march of ravenous creatures. Despite that, and despite having just lost her best and only friend, she is shocked by the kiss.

  The kiss Rocky gave her spoke more about her than the woman had ever shared, it allowed Killer B to see her heart and soul, and it let her know the truth. All this time, all the men were nothing to Rocky. They were as she said, just ‘disposable dildoes’ that she didn’t have to clean, just ‘random cocks’. She used the men to scratch an itch, just something to satisfy her voracious sexual appetite. What she really wanted was the person she loved.

  “Me.” Killer B wishes Rocky was here to talk about it, but considering the odds against her, she knows that will never be possible again. She sacrificed herself so I’d be safe, the woman ponders. She died so I could live. Her head clears enough to focus on the task at hand.

  Figuring there will be plenty of time to dwell on things later, the rest of her life, she needs to get her and the others to the gate lest Rocky’s gesture be in vain. The procession of the dead continues but is thinning out, the crowd isn’t so crowded any longer. As soon as they are out of sight Killer B will be able to move the ladies.

  Instructing them to stay together, the other wives of the raider camp cluster with what meager belongings they’ve carried all this way. Killer B has her bag on her back and the assault rifle in her hands. She tells the women to head down the off-ramp slowly and uses their bodies to help her fight gravity’s pull, keeping a hand on their shoulders as she rolls down with them. Near the bottom Killer B breaks off from the women to roll ahead on her skates, she looks in both directions for signs of danger but sees none though she can hear the howls of the dead off in the distance.

  They are all tired from the long walk but are motivated to start running to the gate. All they have is hope fueling their legs, hope that somebody inside will let them in.

  47

  Life goes on within the park. Abby issues commands to his people. “Let’s get the roster settled. I need to know who may have been lost today. Rough Rider, get our animals put away and our food stowed.”

  As the assembly dissipates some, like Gar, linger wishi
ng to help. The potsmith is near a bookish girl with glasses and electric blue hair in pigtails that arrived with the Rubies. She’s checking off names on a large list as she spots her people, confirming they have made it.

  “Can I help you?” she asks the scruffy man she notices looking over her shoulder.

  “No, I’m good,” he responds dreamily. “But, can I help you? What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to see who may have died on our way here,” she tells him with remorse. Two names on her list have been circled.

  “I’m Gar,” he offers.

  “Abacab,” she returns.

  “That’s and interesting name.”

  “My real name is Abbie,” she tells him with a slight smile.

  “But, that’s his name,” Gar says sounding worried as he points to the leader of the Rubies.

  “You’ll have to forgive my friend,” a man says. “Or, don’t. Gar has a theory about name repetition.”

  “It’s just odd that there aren’t any folks with the same name,” Gar defends his belief against Eli’s usual doubts. “Like there’s some kind of un-natural selection at play, or a sinister force deciding who lives and who dies.”

  “We have two Mikes,” Eli says.

  “And, don’t think I’m not keeping my eyes on both of them.”

  A commotion at the gate captures everyone’s attention, the Rubies and Army soldiers stop their integration to see what’s happening outside.

  One of the spotters is speaking from the wall, “We have more inbound! Four women, one is on roller skates!”

  “Are you expecting more?” Major Barnwell, the commanding officer of Story Book Land, asks Abby.

  “No,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Abacab?”

  “All are accounted for,” she speaks up. “We have five confirmed deaths from the road, no bodies for two of them; Ryan and Alice.”

  The names take the wind from the lungs of the survivors, they feel guilty being happy to have made it when others did not. The sorrow runs far deeper with the inclusion of the little girl. Alice was the first official resident of their society, the first person Brass had saved. Losing her as well as Brass feels like having their hearts and souls pulled out.

  “Open the gate,” Abby says in a firm tone, he’ll be damned if anyone else is dying out there today.

  “We don’t even know who it is,” the Major reminds the young leader.

  “The dead are elsewhere. Whoever these ladies are we can handle within the walls,” Abby explains.

  The gate rises with Vida at the controls once more, this time without having to fight to work them. She brings it up just enough for the strangers to enter and then lets it down again after she’s sure no one else is coming.

  Panting and sweating, the new faces collapse in a heap. They look around desperately, their eyes wide with fear and hopefulness. A semicircle of serious looking people surrounds them, armed and ready.

  “Who are you?” Abby asks.

  “My name is Kil…Kaitlyn Bacall,” a blonde from the pile speaks, gasping. She’s the one in skates that the spotter had reported. “We were being held against our will by some men…My friend Rocky said I should ask for a man named Brass,” she explains, hoping it is enough.

  “Brass is gone,” Abby tells her. “These men, were they holding up in a burger joint just north of here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Abby, I remember her friend,” Lady Luck says. “She’s the chick that was with the guys—short hair, right? Very scrappy?” she confirms with Kaitlyn.

  “She saved us from some bad shit,” Peace Maker adds. Abacab confirms the statement with a nod beside her.

  “Well, welcome to Story Book Land,” Abby says slinging his rifle. “You’re safe now.”

  Peace Maker, Abacab, and Lady Luck go to aid the ladies. They may not have known this Rocky very well, but want to show appreciation for what she did for them, even if she isn’t around to benefit.

  Section XIV: Thin Red Line

  1

  For the most part the integration of the Rubicon people among those of SBL goes smoothly. The soldiers welcome the vastly more experience civilian militia, their own tactic since the onset has been mainly falling back and digging in. Most haven’t seen any actual action. But, not all assimilations have been easy.

  “Can I help you?” Rough Rider asks a man that has been lingering for far too long in his opinion. Having found a nice place for the animals in and around the park’s petting zoo, spending hours trying to calm them down after such a frantic transport, he’s just noticed a man that has been suspiciously giving a lot of attention to what he is doing, especially the young calves.

  “Sorry,” the man bashfully says with a German accent. He hops over the splintered post fence that surrounds the area and hurries over to the animal tender practically bubbling with excitement. “Pardon my staring. You have some very lovely animals.”

  “Uh—thanks.”

  “It’s been ages since I’ve cooked veal, I’m been absolutely craving it.”

  “It’ll be longer still, Frenchie,” Rough Rider breaks it to the man without explaining further.

  Heartbroken, the German takes on a stern demeanor. “I’m not French, I’m German. Perhaps you recognize me, Erich Pobachnig from television?”

  “Nope.”

  “Rough, this is Chef Pog,” Soul Train sidles into the conversation, he recognized the man instantly and has always wanted to try his food.

  Rough Rider takes a better look at him, squinting his eyes. “That shithead on TV that’s always yelling, makin’ folks cry in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah. He’s world famous,” Soul Train continues. The man in question straightens his posture with pride as his praises are sung. “James Beard winner, among other awards. He had three restaurants before he was twenty-one, and about six different cooking shows.”

  “And, through some twist of faith he and I find ourselves as equals, neither owning shit,” Rough Rider says. “How’s business going, baby killer?”

  “You have plenty of young in your herd, several of the heifers are clearly pregnant. Surely you can spare a few!” the chef persists.

  “Ain’t happening. Fuck off.”

  “I believe food should be a feast for all the senses, not just stuff to shove into our mouths!” the chef responds angrily.

  “I got something you can shove in your mouth, you monster.”

  “This rationing is encumbering my creativity!”

  “You’re a cook not a novelist,” Rough Rider retorts.

  “Food should speak from the soul!” the man says angrily. “I create statements on a plate, art. Any act of creation is an expression.”

  “I made a chair once, outta wood, it was beautiful. All I was saying was ‘sit down’.”

  “I will take this up with Major Barnwell!” Chef Pog proclaims, giving up on the argument and storming off.

  “Bigger cows give more meat!” Rough Rider yells at the man. “Don’t be mad at me, it’s just fucking science!”

  “Sorry, Soul,” Rough Rider apologizes now that he’s able to calm down. “You know Peace and I birth these critters, raise ‘em, nurture ‘em, love ‘em, and then slaughter ‘em as needed.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “I guess you’re inclined to be on his side, considering you’re…”

  “Gay?” Soul Train offers sounding insulted.

  “A foodie,” the animal tender corrects his friend.

  “Chef Pog can make magic happen on a plate. I would love to taste what he can do with veal. But, you’re right. It’s an extravagant use of our resources and a waste. I can wait, he ain’t going anywhere, right?” Soul Train begins to walk away backwards to keep his friend in view. “Wanna check this place out with me?”

  “Naw, I better stick with the animals until this matter is settled. I know he’s going to the head guy, who will then go to Abby. Such a stupid fuckin’ thing is going to create tension between our ran
ks.”

  2

  “Carla, you don’t have to do this,” David says with concern. “Just let someone else do it.”

  “He’d do it for me,” she says, gearing up. She fastens her old gun belt over her sweatpants and slings her AK-47. Hefting Oz’s SAW reminds her that it’s impractical for her to take, but she likes the idea of having it, like taking a piece of him with her.

  “Oz is dead. He won’t know who pulls the trigger. You have a lot of little survivors to think about.”

  “They are all I think about. They’re all I have.” She’s now the single mother to twenty-four children that her lost love had rescued. Carla has spent the past two weeks since the man’s death doting on them and her brother, Sid, not letting any of them out of her sight.

  “I don’t get it,” David says. “Since you got back, you’ve turned into super mom. The worst helicopter parent I’ve ever seen, and now all of a sudden you’re going out there? You wouldn’t let me, or Lindsey, or Barb, give you a single night off, and now you’re leaving the park to be Sheriff again.”

  “I was the Sheriff of a town that was overrun by zombies and is now under water. I might as well have been the Sheriff of Atlantis. I’m not going out as a soldier, just taking care of unfinished business. The Rubies have the soldiering covered, I’m not needed.”

  The people of Rubicon have been busy expanding a perimeter beyond the wall, they made a special effort to extend a corridor along the highway and secure the area Oz had fallen. They left him for her as she requested. Soon the Rubies will have the whole Florida peninsula under human control once more.

  “This’ll be my last outing until the world beyond the wall is safe,” Carla says. “You sure you got this?”

  “I took care of these kids long before you ever met them,” the male nurse says with confidence. He had kept them safe during the first day of the plague back at Olive Grove Hospital in Waterloo.