by Dean James
Chris slowed his breathing as his vision tunneled through the scope. He saw Dan’s car fishtail dangerously close to tipping over before regaining control. He allowed himself some measure of relief as Dan sped up his long driveway. He saw the bikers follow, maybe twenty feet behind his brother. Too much dirt had been kicked up for him to see the riders clearly.
No shot.
They followed closely behind the limping car. The earth rose and fell along the roadway, obscuring his view as he tried to track the two with his rifle. He sat back in his darkened room as to not be seen from the road. He saw Old Biker fire his pistol before they rode behind a patch of trees, and out of the rifle’s line of sight.
No shot.
He heard Dan’s car hit something outside. Sweat poured down his face despite the cold air blowing through the open window. He feared the worst had already happened. He cursed his land for not giving him the angle he needed to end the chase. The bikers finally came into view, brakes squealing as they rolled to a stop. The engines cut off and the two dismounted their bikes. They talked and laughed as Chris lined up the crosshairs with the face of Young Biker.
“From a place you’ll never see comes the shot you’ll never hear,” he quoted.
Chris squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Thirty
“Nice shot!” Clyde said as he shut his engine down. “I hope you didn’t hit that fine piece of ass though. We haven’t had any fun with her yet.”
“Like it would stop you if I did!” Dale laughed. “I don’t know which one of you is worse, you or Lee.”
“Oh it was Lee for sure. He’d do anything alive or dead. I’d rather them be alive. It’s more fun when they fight,” Clyde laughed heartily as he pulled his gloves off. “I’m going to do her real slow, she’s going to wish we killed them at the garage. Then I’m going to make her watch me do the same to her kids. Oh I have some plans for them.” Clyde grabbed at his crotch as he licked his lips.
“Wait a minute slick,” Dale started. “I’m the oldest. That means I get first dibs. I’m gonna have some fun too.”
“Come on now. We both know you’re going to have way too much fun carving up what’s left of that guy for what he did to Lee,” Clyde replied.
“Yeah, I do love my work!” Dale roared with laughter. “Okay, I get sloppy seconds then.”
“Deal!” Clyde said. “So why here?”
“Who knows? Maybe they hoped Farmer Jethro would help them, or maybe he just saw a road and took it. Doesn’t look like a bad place to hold up in though. Maybe we can pay the owner a visit when we’re done. If you’re lucky, he’ll have some daughters to play with,” Dale finished with a quick jab to his brother’s arm.
“Oh, farmer’s daughters. I’d feel so wholesome.” Clyde held his gut as he almost doubled over with laughter.
“They sure won’t!” Dale roared as they strolled towards the Honda they had chased for most of the morning.
The massive herd had almost thwarted their efforts to catch the people who had killed their brother. Dale had not been sure if his quarry would even survive the attack. He had seen packs of walkers roaming around since the first day, but he had never seen so many at once.
Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. His brother was almost unrecognizable by the time they found him. There was little flesh left on his skull, and the things were already working on his arms by the time they returned to the garage. Lee was a useless blob of a brother, but he was still family. And family would be avenged.
“Well,” Dale started, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder. “Daylight’s wasting. We wouldn’t want to be rude and keep our guests waiting now would we?
“We sure don’t!” Clyde replied. “I think I might ju…”
Clyde’s last thoughts suddenly vaporized in a bloody mist. Dale recoiled as he saw his brother’s face cave inwards. The high powered round blasted through the back of his skull, bone and tissue spewing out as the bullet completed its deadly path. For several moments, the lifeless Clyde stood there, as if it had not decided whether it was dead or not.
The body had just begun to fall when Dale looked up to see a very large and very angry man barreling down on him. His right hand gripped the largest handgun Dale had ever seen. He started to raise his own pistol when another shot from virtually nowhere split the bone in his right forearm. He opened his mouth to scream, but was cut off by an uppercut that took him off his feet, throwing the air from his lungs as his back hit the frozen earth.
He was still gasping for air when he was violently hoisted to his knees. The cold barrel of the giant handgun pressed against his temple until he thought his skull would crack. His attention was suddenly drawn to another man stepping out of the old farmhouse in front of him. Even with the distance, Dale could see the cold fury written on his face.
“Fuck me,” he gasped.
“Son…” The large man pushed Dale to his knees. The man used his middle finger to push his wire framed glasses back up before bending down to Dale’s face.
“You have no idea.”
**********
“Check on him!” Chris shouted to those behind him as he rushed out the door. Rosa bolted towards the car. Adam came out behind her with no real urgency in his steps. Anna remained on the second floor, watching the scene through the scope of the rifle. Her job was simple. If anyone or anything else showed up, discourage them.
“Yo man, this dude looks dead,” Adam called to Chris.
“Real slick, Adam,” Rosa admonished as she began to treat Dan’s injuries.
“That dude is my brother, shithead!” Chris snapped as he marched toward the injured biker. Chris quickened his steps before Joe lost his patience and his hand cannon shaved the man’s head off at the shoulders.
“Joe! Don’t shoot him,” Chris said as he closed on the two. “Not yet,” he added as his eyes met the eyes of the intruder.
The man looked back at Chris defiantly, holding his injured arm in his remaining hand. The round had sheared off the man’s hand and left it hanging uselessly by a few strands of tissue.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” Chris demanded.
“Fuck you!” the man spat back.
“You came onto my land…” Chris growled every word. “You chased my family. You shot my brother! And you have the nerve to be an asshole to my face? That’s funny. You’re a god damned laugh riot!” Chris turned his back on the man, letting out a chuckle. He took a deep cleansing breath before facing the man once more.
“Now,” Chris said calmly.
“What!” Chris shouted as he brought his Ruger down on the man’s face, crushing the bridge of his nose.
“Is!” He hammered down on his face again, his jaw audibly cracking.
“Your!” The pistol came down again, this time on his cheek bone as the man toppled to his side.
“Name!” The pistol’s handle crunched down on the man’s skull.
“Dale! Ashshole!” he forced out as he spit blood onto the ground.
“Well, Dale Asshole. What crime did my brother commit that you felt he deserved to be chased down and shot?” Chris asked as he rubbed his aching knuckles. The weapon had inflicted the bulk of the damage, but his hand had not escaped unscathed.
Dale smiled, exposing bloody cracked teeth as he did. Joe turned away before his brain could send the message to his stomach that it was time to purge his breakfast.
“I didn’t get my turn wish that schweet ash bisch of his,” Dale did his best at laughing.
Joe spun around, his nausea replaced with unbridled rage. He grabbed Dale by his jacket, and brought him to his feet with a jerk. His sledgehammer of a fist connected with Dale’s jaw. He hit the ground again, his body twisting as it landed. If his face was not broken before, it was shattered now. Dale’s eyes widened in shock as his chin dangled uselessly below his face. The right side of his jawline was nonexistent, as any semblance of bone structure had been reduced to broken shards.
“Got anything else
to say?” Chris smirked. Dale glared back at him, only able to grunt and moan. “Abby is Joe’s friend.”
“Stand him up,” Chris said. Joe grabbed Dale again, his limp body making Chris wonder if Joe had actually killed the man. It wasn’t until Dale coughed moments later that Chris continued.
“I really hope it was all worth it.” Chris pressed the pistol deep into the man’s midsection. The smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder filled the air as the bullet punched through Dale’s body. Blood sprayed outward in a cloud from his back. Dale fell to the ground, bellowing in agony.
“Drag him to the barn and lock him down,” Chris said as he turned and ran towards his brother’s car.
“Why didn’t you just kill him?” Joe asked.
“I did,” Chris called back. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Dan was already out of the car and on a stretcher they pulled from the broken ambulance. Adam, Rosa, Abby and a teenage girl Chris had never seen before were rolling him towards the house. He saw Katie and another girl following the group towards the house in tears. Rosa barked orders at the group as she worked feverishly on her patient.
He ran for all he was worth until he was at his brother’s side, clutching Dan’s hand in his own. It was cold, and lifeless. His breathing was shallow and slow, gurgling with every labored breath. He had one foot planted firmly in the grave, and Chris knew it. Rosa pressed a wad of gauze against the wound, but blood continued to ooze through it.
“Don’t you fucking do this!” Chris yelled. “You made it! You’re here! You survived!”
“Chris,” Rosa said without looking up as she listened to Dan’s chest. Chris didn’t respond, his attention locked on his brother.
“Chris!” she said sternly. He looked up at her, startled out of his own distress.
“If you want to help him, I need your help. In the ambulance, there is a large blue bag. I need that, along with any IV bags and tubing you can find. There is a drug box locked in a cabinet. The keys are in the ignition. I’ll need more bandages, and anything else that looks important. I know you’re worried, but you can take time to worry later. Right now, you need to move like your ass is on fire!”
Chris nodded, and tried to turn away when he felt Dan squeeze his hand. He was elated that there was still a spark of life in his brother. Dan’s eyes were open and staring at him. His normally bright hazel eyes were dull, the color fading away as death’s cold claws raked at the edges of Dan’s life. He pulled Chris closer, whispered into his ear, and fell silent again.
Time slowed as Chris rose up and took in the entire scene around him. His brain began to piece together a puzzle he had not seen until that second. The car was twenty feet away, and he still smelled the heavy gunpowder wafting from the interior. The thing was a rolling battlefield. Whatever had happened there was intense and it happened recently. He watched the gore drip downwards, forming macabre pools on the ground below. At the speed Dan was traveling, most of that should have streaked off onto the road or froze solid. They couldn’t have come very far.
“Abby, listen to me,” Chris said through his rising anxiety.
“Can’t it wait?!” she yelled through her frantic tears.
“No, it really can’t. How long did you drive after you met whatever did that to your car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes,” she answered.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I wasn’t exactly watching the fucking clock!” she shouted back.
“Okay, okay,” he said holding his hands up.
“What’s up, dawg?” Adam asked, his slang annoying everyone around him.
“What’s up,” Chris replied sarcastically. “Is I need everyone in the house, and down in the basement. Fast. Joe and I will clear out the ambulance, but everyone needs to be down there and get very quiet Grab what food you can on the way down.”
“It’s not sterile enough down there,” Rosa replied, shooting Chris a questioning glance. “Even if he lives through this, he could die of infection!”
“If we don’t get out of sight in the next ten minutes, no one will be alive to meet Dan when he wakes up!”
Chapter Thirty-One
I was cold. I lay on my back breathing in stale dusty air. Someone held something over my mouth. I screamed into soft rag as searing pain shot through my body. I heard angry whispers and crying, then silence. I felt something stabbing my chest. The pain burned across my chest like wildfire. I faded away to the light touch of Abby’s hand stroking my face.
**********
I was walking through the snow holding my cousin’s hand. It was one of the heaviest snowfalls in years in Chicago, but that didn’t stop us from going to the playground next to our house. The snow sat chest high as I joyfully plowed through it, allowing the light powder to fall gently on my face. The park was huge to my tiny eyes, a wonderland of glorious wintery fun. She took me in her arms, and we laughed as we fell backwards into the deep snow. We made snow angels before trudging over to the slide. The cold metal didn’t bother me through my dark blue and green snow suit as I slid into the fluffy mountain at the bottom.
I was indescribably happy, the kind of joy only a child could fully understand. Pure and innocent, I had not a care in the world. We walked back to my apartment to indulge in a steaming cup of hot cocoa as we cuddled and watched Sesame Street. Mommy was there, talking on the phone while she made dinner. Daddy came home, and we sat and ate around the old oak table in the dining room. My baby brother sat happily sucking on his bottle, as Mommy rocked him back and forth singing him to sleep.
I closed my eyes, and when they opened, it was Christmas. My aunt had her normal spread of the most delicious homemade treats one could imagine. My brothers and I would sneak our way into the kitchen to feast on all manner of sweets until we were almost sick. If Mom knew, she never said anything. We piled into the living room, surrounded by the most amazing decorations, all handmade by my aunt of course. My uncle would sit in his overstuffed recliner, presiding over the entire affair. He wore a smile all night, overjoyed at the fun and happiness us kids brought to his life.
We opened presents, balling up the wrapping paper and playing our version of dodge ball with it. We stayed late into the night until it was time to get home. We always worried we would miss Santa Claus if we stayed too late. But my uncle would call him, and make sure he knew we were really good that year and he should make sure to stop at our house.
We anxiously loaded our gifts and treat bags into the car. Our eyes were heavy, the effects of the heavy amounts of sugar wearing off. We watched the rows of brightly lit houses pass by as we made our way home. Colorful strings of lights hung from windows and doorways. Wreaths were placed delicately along the roadways, as candles burned brightly in windows.
Mom and Dad carried us to our beds. Dad would tell us his version of the three little pigs. We wouldn’t make it through the second pig’s house before we drifted off to sleep. The door closing behind him woke me long enough to hear Mom and Dad talking before they too made their way to sleep.
I began to fade again, when everything went terribly wrong. My body suddenly wracked with pain. I cried out, but no one was there. My brothers were missing from their beds. Mom and dad did not come to help me. The smell in my room made my stomach knot up until I violently vomited. My tear ducts worked overtime as they tried to flush the vile burning away.
Terrifying sounds engulfed my room. Screeching and hissing, pounding on the walls that shook pictures from their hooks. A motorcycle engine thundered from outside the room. Black clotting blood spilled through the bottom of my door, as a large crack formed down its center. I shut my eyes, squeezing my hands to my ears trying to force the nightmare away. The door exploded inward, splintering the wood into thousands of tiny fragments. As sudden as it had started, everything stopped.
I opened my eyes and I was outside. The early summer breeze gently blew as the afternoon sun warmed my face. I stood in the middle of my high schoo
l’s football stadium, dressed in a myrtle green cap and gown. I was never really a fan of the color, but at that point I was finally escaping school forever.
Life there had never been easy, and home was even worse. My mother and I fought constantly after my dad left. The ink on the divorce papers had barely dried before we were at each other’s throats. I was the oldest, which meant I had the lion share of responsibility in the house when she worked. Most days I felt that I could do nothing right. Had she not packed up and moved the rest of the family out to the suburbs, I would have eventually left myself.
I lived with my aunt and uncle as I finished the last year of high school. Not that I attended much school. I showed for tests, passing every one of them. That earned me a respectable C average at the end of my incarceration in the Chicago Public School System.
I had become quite the accomplished drinker, spending many nights that year sitting outside, enjoying a cold beer with my best friends. They were everything to me, closer to me than my own family. We would talk about anything and everything. With a case of cold MGD and a warm night, we could solve all the world’s problems sitting on the steps of the front porch.
But there I stood. I was at the end of my academic incarceration. I could see my first love up in the stands waving back at me. Her rainbow summer dress fluttered lightly in the breeze as she cheered me on. She was smiling and waving as I took my diploma and walked back to my seat. The end of the ceremony came and my friends and I took one last run across the field, knocking down as many of the folding chairs that we could.
“You went through all these years of high school just to be destructive?” a voice admonished us.
“We grew up!” Justin, one of my best friends answered back.
I had one place I wanted to be, and that was by Rachel’s side. I ran off the field, craning my head to find her in the growing crowd of graduates and their families. She stood by the school building with her back to me. I ran to her, my arms wide ready to envelop her in my embrace. She turned, and my heart stopped.