by Scott, Zack
Light was closer and closer, and Kale knew he’d just killed for the greater good. Light was so close.
The soul-scathing whisper came darkly. “No.”
Kale gagged in misery, outside pavement warm against his palms, rays beaming at his back. “I can’t, please,” he begged.
“Go to them, or all such innocent families die by your hand.”
“Jeff, Alec.” He crawled along the ground, disjointed, weaker than any corpse.
“Deep down it eats at you, knowing my words speak truth. They hate you, and you hate them. Let us end such suffering together.”
“Just kill them yourself.”
“You must find them, for I cannot.”
Kale felt their presence close, but he refused to admit such a thing. Maybe, he thought, maybe if he got to them, they could help. They could fight evil as four.
Yes, as four.
Shaking, he rose to his feet and cracked his jaw. “I’ll take you.”
The voice was silent.
Jeff and Alec: their light seeped into his dark heart, warming his body as he drew closer to them. The last he wished to see, Scot, was an unknowable presence.
Kale traveled his new path, heading for his friends, passing the building from where he’d first spotted the wretched Wright family. Light reflected bright off its glass, shining cheerily on the worst damned day of his life.
JEFF
He slid his hands through his silky golden hair. His elbows dug into his thighs. The stained carpet of the SUV they’d found reeked of dead flesh, rotten blood, lost hope.
They’d loaded its trunk with bags and bags of groceries. To his surprise, the grocery store had yet to be ransacked. He wondered how many survivors were still out there. Life seemed to have been wiped off all of Earth in a matter of seconds.
Evans swiveled his head around in the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
Jeff lifted his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Keep your wits, Private. If you let any of those things bite me, I’m coming straight for you.”
The dark green SUV roared to life and Evans reversed. Six other cars occupied the parking lot of the grocery store. Where has everyone gone? He wanted to lean against his window and rest but the specialist needed him alive and alert. Still, there were too many thoughts consuming his attention. The truth shall set you free—or it’ll consume you, bind you, and destroy you.
Evans said, “Talk to me, Pvt. Brennan.”
“Roads are clear.”
“I mean, shit, tell me the trouble in your mind.”
“Look,”—he raised a hand—“we were set up during the escort mission. That’s clear. We lose power, we lose communications, and the whole world goes dark. All this happens around the same time. I’m no zombie expert but these creatures don’t seem that smart. Whatever caused them to turn undead in those Vaults—something has been planning this for a while, right?”
Evans’ grip tightened around the steering wheel. “We can speculate about anything.”
“True, but I had to vent.”
“Understandable. A plan will be waiting for us at Numark. Orders, Jeff, it’s all about orders.”
Jeff prayed the specialist was right, for his sake, because Jeff had his own plans. Once they were safe at the base, he would find Scot and he would save Kale. He would—
Evans slowed the SUV. There was nothing blocking their path, a clear road heading for a freeway entrance. But off the street, they spotted a gun store. Their eyes locked, pupils flushed with hope.
“Bingo,” said Evans.
They parked the SUV outside the gun store and scanned the interior through windows. Despite the bright day, it was almost too dark inside to see anything. Evans went for the back door, which was conveniently unlocked. He entered first, sliding against a wall with his M4A1. Jeff held a scalpel by his own thigh. Dust flew across his face as they stepped past the back office. Evans ignited a light on his vest. The racks and the walls were almost all cleared. A shotgun hung. Several handguns sat in a display case. “Well, fuck.”
“At least we get something other than these,” said Jeff, raising his scalpel. “Although I’d like to kill at least one zombie with a scalpel throw.”
Evans let out his usual grunt. He circled around searching for ammo, disappointed to find nothing for his assault rifle. As Jeff snagged the pump shotgun off the wall, Evans whispered for him. He left the unloaded weapon on the display case and circled around an aisle for Evans. Light shone on dirty footprints tracked on the floor, leading for a carpeted corner. Evans lightly moved for it. He motioned for Jeff to unroll the carpet from the tiles as he kept cover.
With a swift pull on the carpet, they revealed a trapdoor in the floor. You can’t be serious. If what Jeff expected to be down there in fact was actually there, then fate truly guided his life. He opened the door next. A short ladder led down to a dark pit.
“Anyone down there? We will shoot if you don’t respond,” said Jeff.
No response.
Evans removed the light on his vest and tossed it down into the hole hoping to trick any threats into revealing themselves.
Nothing.
“All clear, I think.”
“I’ll go first.” Evans shoved past Jeff. Less than a ten-foot drop and Evans crouched, aiming, dust floating around him. He shot a look at Jeff, eyes beaming and a larger-than-usual smile. “Get down here.”
Jeff had no idea where to begin . . .
Kevlar? Check.
Pistols? Check
Sub-machine guns? Check
Assault rifles? Check
Grenades, C4 and other lovely explosives? Check.
An RPG? Check
Two bodies in the corner, man and child, each with a bullet in their head? Check.
Kevlar fit snugly against Jeff’s chest. An MP5N sub machine gun hung off it by a strap. He had an M4A1 carbine in his hands as they returned for the SUV.
Jeff had convinced Evans to help him bury the bodies found inside the basement. Evans thought it a waste of time. The right thing is never a waste of time. The father and son had deserved better. Perhaps burying them eased his conscience for taking the weapons from the father’s store.
The right thing.
While they found rifles more powerful than the ones they carried, both men were trained with the M4A1. After all, this wasn’t a video game where one magically leveled up to a new weapon. Regardless, they piled as many weapons as possible into the trunk.
They drove away from the store, the SUV full of guns, ammo, food, and drinks. Both men smiled gleefully; the supply run was a clear success.
Of course, all good things must end.
And they did.
A woman rushed from an alleyway, screaming her lungs hoarse. Blood covered her gown. “My baby! Help, they have my baby!”
Evans stared at the alley far up the clear street they were on. “We should keep moving.”
“And leave her?”
“We’re stocked full, Brennan. We can’t risk losing our supplies.”
“Help!” she kept screaming.
Evans grunted. “She’s going to attract a whole damn horde.”
“Let me hop out. I’ll grab her, then we move.”
“And when she convinces you to save her kid?”
Jeff gave him a short stare. “The kid is already dead.”
Evans slammed the breaks. “Hurry the fuck up.”
The right thing. The passenger door flung open. Jeff rushed out, carbine raise, stock pressed tight. Two silenced shots removed two stumblers emerging from the alleyway behind the woman. She fell to the pavement right as Jeff reached her. “You bit?”
“Wh- what?”
“Did they bite you?” Jeff squeezed the trigger. Another bullet swooshed.
“No, but my baby, they have my Pickles.”
Jeff squinted away. “Pickles?”
“My puppy! They ate him right from my hands!”
She’s covered in dog blood. Son of a�
�
“Brennan!” Evans stood on the SUV’s footboard, aiming over its roof.
Pavement rumbled beneath his boots. Hungry moans grew closer. “How many attacked you?” He stared at the shivering woman.
“My Pickles!”
“Christ, lady.” Jeff yanked her to her feet and grabbed her close, holding his carbine out with one hand.
A zombie horde blasted from the alley. “Brennan!” Evans opened fire. Bullets whizzed over Jeff as he carried the frazzled woman, who kept crying. The right thing. He threw her in the back seat and slammed the door shut. “Go!” he yelled over Evans’ bullets as he got inside the SUV.
Five, ten, twelve, seventeen, twenty-five, thirty—
He abandoned counting as more and more zombies stormed the SUV. Evans slammed on the accelerator. Tires screeched. The woman kept screaming. Dead hands, teeth, spit, and grime pressed against windows. The SUV bounced over breaking limbs. A head rolled across the windshield. A starved skeleton latched onto the hood, grey hair strands flying across its moldy skull. An open mouth revealed a few, crooked teeth.
“Get us out of here!” Jeff shouted
“What do you think I’m doing, whacking off to rotten corpses?”
The SUV finally broke through the horde, giving the occupants a glimpse of the clear road ahead.
The SUV jerked suddenly, swerving uncontrollably. Jeff grabbed the ‘oh-shit’ bar above his head as they spun.
“We lost a fucking tire!” Evans roared.
Screeching struck his ears as they flew off the road. A laundromat’s sign flashed into his eyes before bricks tumbled onto the SUV’s hood. The gray skeleton corpse broke in half, its body flying over the roof. Intestines tumbled down glass to a small stream of smoke rising from the hood.
“I can’t believe it. I crashed. Again.” Evans slammed his fist into the steering wheel once. Then twice more, rapidly, furiously.
The SUV was dead.
“No time for regrets, they’re here.” Jeff twisted in his seat. The horde charged for three trapped souls.
Evans said, “Yeah? Well, burying that family and helping the wench are pretty damn regretful moments right about now!”
The woman shivered behind them, frail arms sticking out from her gown. “Am I the wench?”
Evans rolled his eyes and kicked his car door open, swinging two Colt 9mm SMGs from his back.
“What the hell are you doing, Jon?”
Before opening fire, Evans glanced to the side. “Killing as many as I can.”
Bullets sprayed at the flooding decayed flesh. Bodies fell, trampled by following sprinters. Some tripped. Some dropped from splattered knees. When both SMGs ran out, Evans threw them at the closest creatures. He twisted back for his M4A1. Jeff had it ready on the driver’s seat.
Evans spun back and fired with short, accurate bursts.
Jeff opened his door, his side clear from any attack. Using the seat for a boost, he aimed over the SUV roof. He might have counted thirty or so zombies earlier, and hoped to see the number reduced after Evans’ roaring attack. No such luck; the number had doubled.
No. Tripled.
Sprinters and stumblers rioted for their next meals.
The quickest sprinter launched for Evans. His clip was empty. He smashed the carbine into the creature’s face, its blood spraying across the laundromat’s bricks.
“Get back in!” Jeff called out.
Evans tossed the rifle in the SUV, fired two shots from his Beretta, and slammed the driver door shut.
Jeff lowered himself back in.
A gray and green sea covered all glass, all light, all hope. A sprinter with an enormous mouth slapped its tongue against Evans’ window. “Fuck you!” He hurled saliva at the clear barrier between him and them, chunky phlegm rolling down the door.
The rover rocked back and forth, bodies clambering at all sides. A lanky teen scratched at Jeff’s windows.
The two VTF members stared at one another as the women kept screaming behind them. She reached bloodied arms at their faces and Evans had to shove her back. As her gown rode up her body, they both saw a bite mark on her leg
“Are you serious?” Evans snapped and glared at Jeff. With zero hesitation, the specialist swung back and put a bullet in the woman’s head. The right thing.
“I didn’t see it,” said Jeff.
“Doesn’t matter now.”
Rocking, bouncing, moaning, slapping and clawing.
Jeff’s heart slammed in his chest, hating this ending to his life. Fate mocks me. He looked at his partner as glass cracked around them. “Got any ideas?”
“Yeah.” Evans raised two handguns. “When they break through, save the last bullet for yourself.”
ALEC
Nicole’s gentle, alluring eyes finally opened.
Ignoring her wince of pain, he grabbed her face and pressed close. “I’ve missed you.”
“Alec,” she coughed. “I can’t breathe.”
Alec shamefully lifted off her. “Sorry, Nicole, I—”
“What happened? Where are we?”
“We’re safe. We’re at a clinic.”
“The yacht?” Life flushed her pale face with color and warmth.
“It sank.” Their hands touched. “But we’re safe.”
“Who else is here?” She tried to sit up but Alec feared more pain would find her.
“Careful, honey.” He closed in again.
“Alec,” she wheezed, smiling. “I love you, but you’re in smothering-mode.”
Alec froze over the bed, hand hanging by her cheek. “Oh.” He returned to the stool. “You had me worried, is all.”
“And I adore you for caring so much. I just need to breathe.”
“I’ll get you water.” He jumped to his feet.
She touched his hand, and her bright smile gave him everything he needed. “Kiss me first.”
And he did. Even with chapped, dry lips, the kiss comforted him more than anything else had since she was last awake. He slipped from the exam room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Across the compact hall in the waiting room was Dr. Dylan Evans and Deputy Jimmy Miller.
“Look who decided to take a walk.” Dylan smiled.
Miller was the physical embodiment of hell. Bandages swaddled his hacked, broken torso. More bandages were wrapped around his mangled, swollen face. His nose, upper lip and eyes could be seen through the white mask. Orange hair strands peeked out from the bandages around his head. “Alec,” the deputy mumbled. “How are you?” He spoke slowly, his voice making clear the level of pain and misery he’d endured.
“Good, I’m just grabbing Nicole water.”
“She awake yet?” the doctor asked.
He lied, saying no, and went for the water bottle stash in the closet across from the office. He took two, leaving the last three bottles for the others. As he returned to Nicole, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the waiting room.
“No, no, no.” Dylan waved his hand adamantly in front of Miller. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Afraid not.” It was impossible to tell whether he smiled under the bandages. “Not proud, I’ll tell ya, but I was a kid.”
“So you’re telling me, you’d pull up to girls, who obviously were jogging, exercising, sweating, and you would ask if they needed a ride? Defeating her whole purpose for being out, of course.”
“Like I said,”—Miller weakly shrugged—“I was a dumb kid.”
“You actually did this to find a quick squeeze?”
Miller stretched a shaking hand for Dylan’s lap, where Alec saw a vodka bottle. Doctor and patient drinking together at a time like this? The world has truly changed.
“You deserve to drink, Jim, because that’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.” Dylan chuckled.
“I will, and you keep the damn judgements to yourself, Doc.”
“Hey, don’t get all negative on me. No point in sadness now. Who knows how long we have le
ft?”
Alec understood why the doctor drank. He’d lost his lover, his yacht, and almost his nephew. As for Miller, well, Miller typically did nothing smart.
Alec returned to Nicole, secluding them from the others. She smiled as he opened the bottle of water for her. He brought it to her lips.
“Wait,” she whispered. “Remember when you spilled coke all over me at the zoo? You have shaky hands, sir.”
Alec’s lips spread. “I just keep messing up since you’ve come back.” He shut the shades over the window next to her.
“No,” she murmured and touched his wrist. “You’re perfect.” She drank deeply from the water bottle.
Alec rolled the stool to her bedside, flicking at the paper she lay on.
“So, catch me up on everything.”
“Well, Dylan and Jimmy are out in the waiting room, keeping watch. Jeff left with that Marine guy, or whatever he is, to get food.”
“That’s nice of them.” She sipped again, licking water off her lips. “I, for some reason, remember Jeff telling me about his nickname.”
“Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“You gave it to him because he knocked homers out in little league, right?”
My sweet Nicole. “Sure, honey, why not.” He craved another kiss. So he leaned in, but the sound of breaking glass from outside the room shattered the moment.
Shouts slipped under the exam room door. Alec pounced, slamming his weight against it. “You don’t let anyone in but me, got it?”
Nicole nodded. He slipped out.
In the room across from him, Dylan limped to scattered chairs, crunching glass with each step. A body was sprawled over the mess.
Miller struggled to stand, touching his holstered pistol. Alec wondered why no one had taken it from him while he was healing. Typical Jimmy, I suppose. The deputy looked at Alec. “He came flying through the damn doors!”
Dylan crouched over the body, dropping his cane and feeling for a pulse. He still had the vodka bottle in one hand, which Alec found absurd. “He’s alive. What’s his name again? Karl?”