Jack Zombie (Book 1): Dead Haven

by Flint Maxwell

  It’s too late.

  19

  Cowboy Hat has a gnarled hand around Earl’s ankle. Kevin thunders past me, but he’s not fast enough.

  The zombie on the floor, wearing its dirty clothes and gray skin like some kind of abomination from hell, tears into Earl’s chest, right into the exposed skin below his neck. The white basketball jersey turns a dark red.

  He flails like a drowning man, one drowning in his own blood.

  I just stand there, too frozen and shocked to do anything. It’s like Toby all over again, except it’s not. I’m seasoned now. I’ve killed these things, I know these things.

  Kevin’s running shoe comes down on the back of Cowboy Hat’s head. He cries out like he did when he showed me the correct way to bench press before all this shit went down. Skull crushes beneath sole and tile shatters beneath his face. The head splits open, showing everyone who’s willing to look black and pink brains.

  Cowboy Hat’s cowboy hat is now scattered among the rest of the gore.

  Tears roll down my face for God knows how long before I muster up the strength to wipe them away.

  Most of Earl’s features are bathed in red. What’s not bloody is an ashy pale. His eyes gloss over as his bottom lip trembles. He wheezes and gasps while a bony hand clutches at the wound. Kevin holds his head in his lap while he rocks him back and forth, one of his huge hands tries to quell the bleeding.

  But it’s no use. We all know it. I can see the old man’s heart beating through all the gore, and its rhythm slows.

  A sheen of tears is in the big guy’s eyes. I never thought I’d see him cry again. He’s no longer the wimp from high school. Men like him don’t cry, they just can’t. They’re too big and burly, too busy slamming back brewskies and grilling dead cow on Super Bowl Sunday. But then again, I never thought I’d see the dead rise. Never say never, I guess.

  “L-Look in on Carol,” Earl says.

  “Aw, fuck, man. This shit ain’t right,” Isaiah says. He drops the barbell he is holding and rubs his hands over his bald pate, turning away. He steps away. I think he might be about to cry, but he damn sure won’t do it in front of us. Stupid, I know. He walks past the stairs where Miss Fox looks on through hands that don’t quite cover her eyes. Pat has a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Abby says next to me, but at this moment it’s quiet. Eerily quiet. So quiet that Earl hears her. And when he turns his neck, a river of blood flows from between his and Kevin’s fingers.

  “I’m gonna be all right, Abby, yes. I’m going to a better place.” His other hand shakes its way up to the small chain around his neck. Fingers run over the smooth metal of the cross. “It…it was almost my t-time anyway, dear.” He laughs. “Please c-check in on Carol f-for me when this is all over. Make sure she got her ribbon. Sometimes she f-forgets to turn off the stove. Her…and t-those soap operas. B-Bet she doesn’t even know what g-goin on. Tell her to start watching t-the news for God’s sake. Tell her I-I’m g-gonna be ssss-smiling down on her…”

  A croak comes from the back of his throat. His eyes open wider. Body shudders, goes stiff. A heel clicks the wet tile. Will he turn now or later?

  I don’t know. In my own books, it takes some time, and even Doaks suffered awhile before he came at us with a craving for human flesh.

  Earl doesn’t, not yet; instead, he just dies right there in front of us all.

  I hear Abby whimper when she looks to his face where those glossy eyes loom, staring at nothing for the rest of eternity.

  “Damn, man. What the hell do we do now?” Isaiah asks.

  “We survive,” I say.

  We have to. I have to…for Darlene.

  “Yeah, in order to do that we gotta get rid of this old fart,” Pat says. “You said not to let them bite you. What did he do? He got bit. He’s gonna turn, now. Zombie 101, right, Jack?”

  Everyone stares at the man in horror. Sweat isn’t soaked through his shirt anymore. It’s all dry. Now it’s just blood and guts. You can’t even tell his shirt was white before all this happened. I’m almost too afraid to look down at myself, at what I look like. As if on cue, all eyes look to me, and the group grimaces.

  Then Isaiah turns away and says, “Jesus, man, have some respect. Earl was a good guy.”

  “Was,” Pat says. “Now he’s of no use to us. Don’t look at me like this is my fault. Jack is the one who knows so much about these damn things.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Zombies.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Abby asks.

  Kevin is still on the floor, soaked in Earl’s blood, tears in his eyes. He rocks back and forth, murmuring slightly.

  “Well, if the same shit that happened to Doaks happens to Earl — ” Isaiah starts.

  “Enough,” Fiona moans. “Enough. Earl was a kind soul. God would not bestow that fate on him. The ones out there, those…those things are abominations. They’re the souls God rejected for whatever reason, the ones Satan won’t even take in. Earl is not one of them.”

  Pat snorts. It’s an odd sound in all the quiet chaos. I almost can’t breathe let alone snort.

  “Oh, you knew him, huh, Miss Fox?” Pat says. “Take a look around. Go peer through that broken window and tell me that God is picking and choosing here.”

  Miss Fox steps back like she’s been physically slapped. Her mouth hangs open. Eyes drift away from Pat’s face.

  “Then what do we do?” I ask after a moment of awkward silence passes. “Just throw him outside like we’re chucking bread to a bunch of ducks?”

  Pat tilts his head, scratches his chin. “Not a bad idea. We’ll get there, but what I’m saying is if the only way to kill these bastards is to take out the brain, then someone has to bash old Earl’s head in.”

  Miss Fox shudders again.

  “Don’t worry, he won’t feel it. He’s already dead,” Pat says.

  I notice he’s smiling like he enjoys this. I think I speak for the rest of us feel when I say we’re one more bashed head away from a coronary.

  “No,” Kevin says firmly. “We let him rest.”

  He stands up with the body still in hand. The bleeding has slowed down, but streams dribble from the open wound in his neck like the last vestiges of a rainstorm. Kevin looks bigger and smaller at the same time. He towers over everyone, especially Pat. The two catch eyes and Pat throws his palms up.

  “Okay, okay, big guy. You’ll be the one who buries him then. Better get out there quick before the sun is completely gone.”

  Sundown is soon, I think, but my world has been dark since I lost Darlene and this apocalypse happened

  I hear Kevin’s teeth grinding. Somehow, the sound is louder than the snarling in the lobby. He walks past us toward the steps.

  I rush toward him, place a hand on his sweaty shoulder. “Here, let me help,” I say.

  When he turns his head to look at me, it’s almost in slow motion. Tears and blood clash beneath his eyes, and he falls to one knee, Earl’s body still in his arms.

  “Set him down, man,” I say. “Give yourself a rest.”

  I guess even behemoths need to rest sometimes. Kevin listens, rolls Earl’s body to the second step.

  Abby is over now. “You need to go lay down, Kevin. Or eat something.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll be all right. Just a little lightheaded.” He sniffles with as much force as a power vacuum.

  “Come on,” Abby says, “we’ll go bust open the snack machine. Get you something sugary.”

  “No. No carbs,” he says.

  She grips his arm tight and starts leading him away.

  When I turn around, Pat’s in my face. “You wanna be the leader, kid? Then do something. You know we can’t keep him in here. He’s a ticking time-bomb. I saw the sheriff first-hand.”

  I stammer, trying to think of an answer. It’s amazing how much Pat and Freddy look alike, even more amazing how much I want to punch his lights out.
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  Pat scoffs. “Fuck this.”

  He turns away, bends down to pick something up, then pushes me out of the way. It’s lightning quick, the movement. A glint of silver flies by my face. He grunts like a warrior as he swings the barbell down onto the second step. Wind whistles by my ear. A couple inches to the left and it could be my head.

  It’s not.

  It’s Earl’s head, and his brain and blood spray me like I’m riding the Maid of the Mist through Niagara Falls.

  “W-Why?” is all I manage to say before Kevin runs over with his fist raised.

  My ears are ringing. Words are thrown around, but I don’t understand what’s going on. All I see is Kevin stop dead in his tracks as Pat raises the pistol in front of him, and aims it at the big guy’s head.

  “Easy there, asshole,” Pat says.

  The ringing stops.

  I can’t blink. Chunks of pink stuff roll down my cheeks and puddle at my feet. There’s a fire blazing inside of me. I almost bend down to pick up the barbell, ready to smash Pat’s head in, but I think of Darlene. If I get myself shot, she’s all alone, and I can’t be stupid here.

  Kevin’s hands are up. Abby screams, “Stop it! This is too much! Stop…stop…stop!”

  “You guys want to survive, right?” Pat asks.

  Isaiah reaches in his waistband where the gun should be. “How the hell — ”

  “Quick hands,” Pat says. “You need to be more careful, buddy. All of us do. And if you guys do want to survive then you’ll start listening to me. Got it?”

  “You son of a bitch — ” Isaiah says.

  Pat levels the gun in his face. “Got it?” he repeats.

  “Or what?” I say.

  “Or I’ll blow your heads off,” Pat says. That same shit-eating grin is on his face. “Now everyone get where I can see you.” He nods his head at me and Miss Fox and Ryan perched on the mid-stair landing to come down and stand in front of him. Then for Isaiah to move from his right and stand next to us.

  We do. All of our hands are up. Fresh blood and guts line Ryan’s work boots. Miss Fox covers her mouth with the heel of her hand. She’s relatively clean. There may be a few drops of blood on her red work shirt, but they’re basically invisible. The rest of us…well we look like we’ve been through hell and back.

  “As much as I don’t want to believe it, as much as I want to believe a few people got high on meth or crack — or whatever these dumbasses are smoking these days — and decided to chew each other’s faces off, that isn’t the case. Something is seriously wrong — ”

  “You don’t say, motherf — ” Isaiah starts to say, but is cut off by the sound of Pat cocking the gun.

  “Respect, my friends, can get you very far in life. Disrespect will get you a bullet in the head. So let’s clear things up. I’m in charge. Whatever I say goes. I don’t know how many rounds I got left in this gun, but I’m willing to bet it’s enough to put you all down. So what we’re going to do is get along, that way I get to keep my hands clean and you guys get to keep your life. Understood?”

  None of us say anything, but I swivel my head to look at the others. We have hate in our eyes, and Pat sees it, too because his smile grows wider. He lives and feeds off of it. Somehow, he’s worse than his son. Freddy never went homicidal on me. He beat me up, called me names, but he never pointed a gun at my head.

  For a moment, the thoughts of Darlene are pushed away. REVENGE replaces those thoughts, burning in bright, red letters.

  Outside, the thudding against the doors grows louder. I look at the mass of hands and fingers prying their way through the makeshift, failing barricade. Those bars aren’t going to hold. If God is good they won’t and the zombies will pour in and take Pat Huber as their main course.

  “Pat, please,” Miss Fox says. “This isn’t you.”

  “Look around, Fiona, this isn’t our world. Sometimes, you can’t be yourself. Sometimes, you have to change.”

  20

  He herds us upstairs like some kind of macabre sheep. I’m last in line so I get the barrel digging into my back. Pat isn’t gentle, either. I feel bad for his wife.

  He stands guard at the top of the steps, leaning between two water fountains, his eyes flicking from the front doors on the first floor to us as we start building another barricade at the top of the steps.

  “We wait here until help shows up,” Pat says. “No more fighting and killing. We keep our noses out of it until the Army or police get here.”

  “What made you change your mind?” I ask as Ryan and I roll an elliptical machine near the rest of the piled up workout equipment.

  Pat narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t ask questions, Jupiter. I want to live. It’s that simple. We aren’t gonna live out there. We have a better chance in here.”

  Speak for yourself, Pat, I think. As soon as the time is right, I’m tossing him over the balcony and getting to Darlene.

  But I can’t say this, so instead, I say, “I’m just saying what if they never show up? What if we starve? We only have so much vending machine food.”

  “He’s right,” Abby says.

  “Can it, whore,” Pat says. “Less talking, more moving.”

  Ryan and I pass Abby and Kevin as we head back to the almost barren weight room. I catch eyes with her, see the fire in them. Kevin just looks defeated — it’s a terrible look on such a gladiator, but I guess he has every right to be.

  The rack where the dumbbells used to be is empty. Large hunks of metal with three rows for weights from two pounds to a hundred pounds.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get this one.”

  Ryan shakes his head. “Watch out, Jupiter. Let the real men handle this.”

  I cock my head. Real men? I don’t remember seeing this cocky asshole bashing in the zombies ten minutes ago. Whatever. I’ll let him do his thing. No way will he be able to move this thing by himself. It’s got to be about three hundred pounds of pure steel.

  “Unlike you, I’ve lifted heavy shit before,” Ryan says. “I don’t just sit behind a desk all day and make up stupid stories.”

  He sounds bitter, but it’s cool.

  “Go right ahead,” I say, with a smile on my face.

  He struggles at first, his pale face going beet red. To my surprise, he actually lifts one end of the rack up so it’s pointing straight up to the ceiling.

  “Now what?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “You gonna roll it all the way to the steps.”

  Ryan’s breaking heavily, half-hunched over, sweat standing out on his forehead. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I will. Get out of here and make yourself useful, Jupiter.”

  He starts to push against the metal again. It easily towers over him by about five feet.

  I cringe as it topples, expecting the noise to be like a lightning bolt at my feet, but it doesn’t topple over the way Ryan intends it to. It topples over on him.

  I jump toward him as quick as I can. His arms catch the middle rack, but it’s too much force. This close, I can hear the bones grinding inside of him to keep him from being smashed. I have the top rack in hand, the metal edge slicing into my flesh, causing me to bite my tongue.

  “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Ryan is saying.

  This is much worse than my run in with the bench press. So much worse. I don’t give up. I give it all I’ve got. In one strong push, I give Ryan enough room to let go and dive out of the way. This means all the force of the rack he was holding up comes crashing into my palms, and it’s too much.

  I grunt and scream.

  Somewhere, dumbbells crash to the floor as Isaiah, the closest one runs over to us.

  “Go, Ryan!” I yell.

  And he tries.

  The weight is just too much. I let go before it takes me down with it.

  The rack comes crashing down with all the force of an angry god. I think the floor will crack open and we’ll wind up falling through.

  Then I hear Ryan scream out.

  I’ve fallen away, landing on my ass,
my head spinning from lack of oxygen in my struggle to hold the rack up, vision blurry.

  But my vision isn’t blurry enough to miss what has happened to Ryan’s leg. The rack caught him in the middle of the shin. His khakis are torn open. White skin is smeared with red blood. His scream should be louder, but I think he’s just in too much shock.

  Isaiah tries to lift the rack up, barely raising it a few inches off of Ryan’s leg. I scramble up to help. By this time, Kevin and Abby are helping, too. Miss Fox and Pat are nowhere to be seen, but I’m not looking for them.

  With Kevin helping, we easily get the rack off of Ryan. Abby helps pull him out from under it.

  “Fuck, fuck,” Ryan says. His hands are over his face, tears stream down his cheeks. “It’s broken, isn’t it?”

  I look to the wound.

  It’s worse than broken. It’s almost amputated. I can see the bone in the sea of broken flesh and blood. It’s not broken cleanly but rather splintered.

  We need to get him to the hospital.

  “Uh,” Abby says. She’s at a loss for words. We all are.

  Ryan looks down at the wound, peeking through his splayed-out fingers on his face.

  His eyes show white and he falls over, passed out.

  I hate to admit it, but I feel bad for the kid. I should’ve helped, shouldn’t have let him try to that on his own. Something bad was always going to happen. It always seems to be that way.

  Over the quiet, shaky breathing, I hear footsteps. I turn to see Pat strolling through. No concern written on his face, only curiosity.

  When he sees the blood dripping onto the rubber floor, Pat raises the gun.

  “No!” I shout. I grab his forearm, and I think the act alone shocks him. He pulls free of my grip.

  “What are you doing? Don’t you see?” Pat screams. “He’ll just weigh us down.”

  I know I can’t reason with him. So I do something I never thought I’d do for an asshole like Ryan. I stand in front of him, put my body between the gun and the end of his life.

  Kevin follows, then Abby, and then, reluctantly, Isaiah.