by D.S. Black
Humanity’s Death
A Zombie Epic
D.S. Black
Copyright 2016 D.S. Black
All Rights Reserved
Humanity’s Death: A Zombie Epic
Copyright © 2016 D.S. Black
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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Table of Contents
Head Lines
One Year Later
Chapter One: The Teach Family
Chapter Two: Plat Eyes
Chapter Three: A Ghastly Return
Chapter Four: Candy and Andrew
Chapter Five: Final Night in the Swamp
Intermission: Dead Letters
Chapter Six: Tommy “Duras” Morrow
Chapter Seven: The Incredible Okona and His Comic Warriors
Chapter Eight: Militia Interference
Chapter Nine: Rusty Ray and the Seekers
Chapter Ten: Professor Mary Jane
Chapter Eleven: Allies
The Epic Continues
Note from the Author
About the Author
Head Lines
THE NEW YORK TIMES—A virus is ravaging the country. People are falling over, reanimating, and eating the flesh off anyone they see. There is speculation of a worldwide pandemic. Some experts are suggesting a super bug may have been spawned by the Ebola vaccination.
THE NEW YORK POST—Hailed as a miracle cure, the vaccine promised to rid humanity of Ebola…early reports suggest that the outbreak originated in Africa where the vaccine was first used.
REUTERS—The situation is growing worse. Early estimates suggest millions are already infected. The CDC suggests staying home, locking your doors, and watching your television for emergency channel updates.
THE YOUNG TURKS—If you have been infected or know someone that has been infected, please blow their fucking heads off.
INFOWARS—The elite create virus that kills off 80 percent of the population.
THE GUARDIAN: The president is dead, mass sightings of paranormal activity reported.
There were no more headlines.
One Year Later
Chapter One: The Teach Family
1
Darkness surrounds Jack Teach while a bar of swampy moon light drifting through an open window streaks across his face. He lays in a semi unconscious state. Slowly his nervous system reminds him of the pain coursing through his body. The smell of infection is nauseating. Breathing causes exhaustion, his eyes barely stay open. How did this happen? What in god’s name was I thinking? He thinks to himself, absorbed in pain and regret. Outside the world is dark, frogs are burping, and something is moving.
Where is she? It hurts so much.
2
24 hours earlier.
Jack stared out of an open window. Hot morning air blew against his face. His black rimmed, round glasses slipped down his sweaty nose, and he pushed them back in place. He breathed in the smell of decaying vegetation and animal matter. A frog croaked somewhere in the thickness of the surrounding cypress trees. Gray mist floated like a cloudy haze, casting a worrying doubt over the swampy wet land. The vegetation was gray with desaturated green.
He dunked a spoon into a can, lifted it out, and swallowed cold beans as he watched sparks fly in the face of his cousin, Andrew, who put the final touches on repairs to the pontoon boat. Sweat streamed black grease down Andrew's thin arms. Faded green BDUs hung loosely around his legs; and his black boots dug into the soft marsh. Not far from him, sitting at a bench, Candy cleaned rifles with her daughters. The girls sang a low and melancholy tune, like a song from a funeral. Their legs dangled out of pale denim shorts; their hands rubbed bullets with stained red rags.
“They don’t have to shine girls—just gotta kill.” Candy said. Jody blew by them in his usually haste. His oversized belly jiggled as he carried a bag of ammunition. His large legs stepped in the boat and loaded the gear as sparks continued to fly into Andrew’s masked face.
Behind Jack, Papa spoke, “You about ready Jack?”
“Ready as I’m going to be.”
“Today the reign of terror is ends. Today we fight back. Don’t look concerned Jack. I believe in you.” The old man said.
“What do you think Mema would say about all this?” Jack asked.
In the distance Jack watched his family prepare to leave. A haunting morning dew surrounded them. Ghosts. Dear Jesus, they look like ghosts. Jack thought.
“She’d be damn proud! She’d be happy that you and your cousins are fighting back. Ain’t no way to know what she’d think about dead people walking around. Hell, nobody saw that one coming.”
“You’re right. She would want us to go out and help people. She wouldn’t want us to hide out here forever.”
Jack turned around. His grandfather sat hunched. The old man tried to stay tall in his wheel chair but slumped involuntarily. The old man stared at his grandson. “I’m proud of you, boy.” His body was shriveled and frail. His skin wrinkled and splotched. His eyes were a dark gray, his hair a silver white. “I know Papa… I know.” A white wife beater clung to Papa’s scaly skin; and the imprint of a pace maker pushed out from his chest.
The sound of the boat engine roared outside. The happy shouts of the girls rang through the air. Jack turned and stuck his head out the window, “We ready Andrew?”
He removed his welding mask, gave Jack a silent thumbs up, and wiped a thick coat of sweat from his brow.
“Time to rock and roll!” Jack said
Jack turned to see Papa smiling gleefully. “I really should go.” He said. His teeth were few in number, rotted and yellow; his chin thin, and his neck small with loose skin.
“You would only slow us down old man. Plus, who would watch after the girls while we’re gone?”
“Shit boy! I don’t watch after them. They watch after me!”
Jack walked around behind him and gripped the handles of his wheel chair. The handles were red and cracking. The old wood floor crunched underneath the wheels as Jack pushed Papa down the rickety front door and onto an old splintered porch. The sun threatened to gleam down through the grayish green canopy above. Around the marshy island, thick trunks of cypress trees disappeared into black water. From within the fog, sounds of wild life murmured—like eerie unseen ghosts, just waiting to show themselves.
Jack pushed him down a cracked concrete slant. The old man whistled an old war melody while rolling through thick humidity. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and sweat already dribbled down every inch of his body.
The girls ran up to Papa, “Let us push him!”
“Yes ma’am”
Candy walked over and punched Jack in the shoulder. “You ready to make our mark in this apocalyptic shit hole?”
Jody marched over, “Don’t bruise him up baby, we need his skinny behind!”
“Rather be skinny than with a fat belly like you. How the hell do you keep that bulgy pouch, anyway? It’s not like we’re eating steak and potatoes these days.” Jack said.
“I’m just big boned.”
; Andrew shouted from the boat, “Ain’t never seen a fat skeleton, Jody!”
Candy kissed her husband on the cheek, “At least we know the dead will eat you first, babe.”
“Enough clamming! It’s getting late and you kids have a long mission ahead.” Papa said.
Jack turned and looked down. “You really enjoy playing General, uh?”
“Lucky for you, I already whipped the Germans a long time ago. Compared to storming Normandy, this is a walk in the park!”
Jack walked over to the boat and smacked Andrew on the shoulder. “You sure this thing won’t sink?”
Andrew looked up with a sly grin.
“Nothing I fix sinks.”
“I don’t know… do you remember that inflatable raft?”
“Shit! That was what…” He scratched an unkempt goatee as though thinking, “fifteen years ago!”
Behind Jack, Candy and Jody kissed the girls goodbye. “Don’t worry girls, we’ll be back as soon as possible.” Candy said.
Jack looked around at his family. A dark mist surrounded them, blurring their faces. For a moment, Jack felt as though none of this existed, like a foggy nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He climbed into the boat. The metal floor showed a scorched, welded section. The boat rocked in the dark, murky water. He took a seat near the front. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back in place. Jody and Candy climbed in, followed by Andrew, a sniper rifer jiggling on his back as he sat behind the steering section of the engine. Candy’s revolver was barely visible, hanging deftly from her faded police uniform. Jody’s shot gun rested over his broad shoulder.
Jack's AR15 rested against his camouflage chest rigging. The rigging had three front pockets filled with extra magazines. He touched the cold metal and breathed deeply, taking in the dying world around him. He watched as the girls waved good bye from the water’s edge. The engine’s exhaust made him grimace. Black swamp water gurgled around the boat’s exterior as Andrew guided them through the dank, deathly water.
3
The air gushed around Jack's face. He held his head high, making sure his glasses stayed put. Tall cypress jolted through the black water like moss covered pillars. A cloud free blue sky hung above. A dark, shadowy forest covered both sides of the water.
Jack found it hard to believe such dark beauty could exist. It was easy to want to forget about the dangers ahead. Staying within the safe insulation of the swamp for the last year almost made him forget that almost everyone he'd ever know died, reanimated, and started eating the flesh off everyone in sight. The horror of those first days still wake him up at night. The screams of children, and cries of the elderly haunt his dreams. Traveling down the river was like a dream in itself, and his mind drifted back to that first day of the Fever.
The news anchor blared, “Stay inside your homes. Lock your doors.”
Jack turned it off. His heart pounded. He had to save him. Had to get him out of that nursing home before it was too late. He called his cousins; the cell phones working for the time being. They were on their way; the pandemonium in the streets was wild. People were unprepared for the what was happening.
Jack waited at his window. Time seemed to slow and tick away with painful agony. He chewed at a nail to help pass the time. His glasses slid down his face; he pushed them back.
At the sight of Andrew’s black Humvee, draped in the color of camouflage, he breathed a little easier. He'd emptied his book bag of all his college books earlier, and filled it with food stuffs—chocolates, canned beans, and SPAM.
He ran with earnest towards his cousin’s red neck dream of a truck, opened the door, and slammed it behind him. Before Andrew could lay on the pedal, flashing blue lights came from behind, and swung around to the driver’s side. Candy’s voice echoed out of a loud speaker, “Follow me! There isn’t much time!” Jack saw that her daughters were in the back of the cruiser like a couple of child convicts.
As they dashed through the streets, the bodies of the recently deceased moved about in slow, jerking movements. Kids ran and women screamed as their blood drooling husbands dug their hungry teeth into flesh. Nothing could be done to help them. It was far too chaotic to stop. The window of opportunity would close and Papa would be dead, or worse, reanimated and chewing on the muscles of some sexy nurse.
The sky was dark and rain threatened to make the rescue wet and dreary. The chaos was still new, and it’s for that reason, people obeyed the flashing lights whirling above Candy’s patrol car. Cars and trucks let them pass. But, the dead didn’t budge for a moment.
She swirled quickly to avoid hitting them, and lost control. Steam gushed from the engine when it crashed into a tree. The air bag deployed, and Candy’s head snapped back. Jack heard the girls screaming in the back seat.
Andrew didn’t hesitate; he slammed straight through a gang of zombies. Their bodies crunched under the jacked up suspension of the truck. “I told you it would come in handy one day!” He said.
A hoard of around ten or so dead folks lurked towards Candy’s position. She’d crawled out of the cruiser, and lay on her knees on the edge of some grass that connected to a side walk; her daughters still screaming in the back. Andrew brought the Humvee to a screeching halt beside his sister’s position.
The dead were only a few feet away.
Jack jumped out of the Humvee to help her, but no help was needed. Before the pitiful dead bastards had the chance to taste her pale white, freckled flesh, her revolver reported. Jack smiled with wild, adrenaline induced excitement as the heads of the dead exploded, painting the asphalt with gray and bloody brain matter.
He'd never seen a head explode in real life. It was as though a small bomb went off in their heads, cracking open their skulls, and erupting blood, brain, and skull fragments from the exit wound.
Steam and smoke was coming from under the hood of the engine. Jack and Andrew were out of the Humvee; Candy was opening the back door. The girls, their blonde pigtails bouncing, leaped out of the cruiser. “Get em in the Hummer! I gotta grab some shit!” She said.
Jack helped the girls into the Hummer's huge, gray leather back seats. Andrew was at the cruiser with Candy helping her grab the riot shot gun, along with a huge black bag of ammunition and assorted rifles. On the side of the bag, written in large gold stenciled letters: Sheriff’s DEPArtment
“Jody’s already there, and he says it ain’t pretty!” Candy said as her and Andrew rushed back over to the Hummer. Her red hair was in a wild disarray, her blue eyes glaring with adrenaline. Around them, the world screamed with death.
Andrew jumped into the driver's seat, and pulled the trunk latch; Candy threw the guns and ammo in, and slammed the hatched closed. She then climbed in the back with her girls, slammed the door.
“We set?” Andrew asked.
“Hit it!” Candy said.
Jack was watching the pandemonium as Andrew sped around crashed cars, running people, and the stumbling dead, whose flaying arms thudded against the vehicles hard exterior, and snapped off with bloody precision as they attempted to reach for the bodies inside, clearly not knowing that their attempts were futile.
This time the cars didn't yield for them, but this was Andrew's chance to show the world why he paid so much money to make his Hummer look like a Transformer, or some kind of modern dinosaur. The Hummer jumped over concrete curbing, tore through bushes, and drove through parking lots.
Ahead, the nursing home came into view and Jack's stomach turned.
He knew hell awaited, but what he saw almost caused him to announce Papa and Jody dead on arrival. Streaming out of the nursing home from a hospital across the street were hundreds of growling recently risen nurses, doctors, patients, kids, oh my.
Then he saw them. “There they are!” Jack shouted.
Miraculously, Jody stood beside papa’s wheel chair firing loud buck shots through the brains of the charging dead. Beside Jody, brandishing a sawed off shot gun (presumably given to him by Jody, it was hardly an
item the Calm Waters Nursing facility allowed), was Papa screaming obscenities and firing at the mob of death. They were completely cornered at the back entrance of the nursing facility. How, in the name of Jesus and Lucifer they'd accomplished this incredible feat of survival, was beyond Jack's imagination—at least at that moment.
The Hummer stopped about twenty yards from the hungry crowd.
Andrew turned and shouted, “In the back!”
“Girls, you stay right here and don't move!”
The just stared at their mother and nodded, scared out of their wits.
Jack opened the trunk, and before him sat a collection of AR-15s, Ak-47s, and tactical vests already filled with extra magazines. This didn't include the bag of ammo Candy had thrown in. God bless rednecks, is all Jack could think.
He strapped on a vest, and grabbed an AR, pushed its stock against his shoulder, pointed the barrel in front of him, and moved strategically around the Humvee. God bless video games, he now thought. He'd only shot large rifles at the firing range a few times. But it was like the insane Virginia Tech shooter (who'd never actually had any training); when a person plays the scenario over and over in their head (or in a video game) the actions become internalized as though the person were actually doing it. The brain, by golly, is an incredible piece of bioengineering, rather by God or Nature, the choice is yours to make.
“Cover us, Drew!” Jack said.
Andrew jumped on the roof of the Humvee and started firing. Jack and Candy moved in perfect harmony, taking care not to waste one bullet. The bang of their rifles filled the air and the dead dropped to the ground, this time for good. Jack's aim wasn't quite as good as Candy's, but he was warming up fast. The world around him came as sharp and clean as high definition television picture.
The sound caught the hordes attention and gave Papa and Jody breathing room; half the mob was headed for Jack and Candy. Jack's rifle rattled in his hands as he pulled the semi-automatic trigger over and over. He dropped magazine after magazine, inching his way towards his grandfather. Fear didn’t exist in that moment, only the determination to live.
He stepped over and around bodies carefully. The stench nearly gagging him. Had he had the time to analyze the enormity what was happening around him, he surely would have gone mad. The mind, however, compartmentalizes trauma in a way that allows humans to perform under extreme circumstances; the trauma only reemerging later in life in the form of post-traumatic stress.
Jack and Candy finally reached Jody and Papa. Across the street, Jack saw a fresh horde forming, making their way towards them. Yes, the day was developing into a serious shit free for all. What in Christ's name was happening?
His mind pushed it away, stowing it neatly somewhere down in the subconscious.
Papa saw them, “Carry me boy!”
Jody hoisted him over his shoulders, Jack carried his wheel chair, and Candy covered their movements as they made their way over the bodies, back to the Humvee.
4
Andrew shut the engine off and guided them to the embankment. Jack jumped out of the boat and carefully made his way through dense woodland, eventually reaching the dead end of an old dirt road. Camouflaged just off the road, the Humvee waited, gassed and ready.
Driving down that old dusty dirt road, he noticed something out in the woods. A dim shack, with soft gray smoke coming from a wood stove chimney pipe at the top.
“Stop.” Jack said.
The hummer slowed to a halt. An ominous and strange feeling spread over him like the coming of a storm. Had he seen this shack before? Surely not. How many times had he been down this road? This dark and lonely road. Yet, he'd never seen it. He was sure of it. He asked the others and they too agreed. It was as though some force had wanted to keep them from seeing it. At least that’s the thought that went through Jack's head while he stared out at the rising smoke. The thick trees simply kept him from seeing it, that was it. The occupant must use the fire only on rare occasions. Or maybe the occupant just now set up shop there. All he knew for sure was that something didn't feel right. A shadowy darkness existed in those trees, and something sinister festered, waiting (wanting?) to be found. The smoke was a signal. Come and see what evils await dear friends, here at the world's ending. Jack didn't like the idea of precognition. He didn't believe in all that superstitious stuff. Yet, the dead now walked. And, although he'd never seen a ghost, the stories flooded the air waves while the world still had air waves. A ghost didn't light the fire that made that smoke though. The dark and tepid evils of the world don't come from the spiritual realm; they exist right here in the physical world. He knew this from all the history courses he took. The Hitlers and Stalins of the world didn't need supernatural powers to commit mass murder. Neither did the Ted Bundys or the Zodiacs.
Jody and Andrew stayed back with the Humvee, just in case of a needed fast escape. Jack and Candy moved cautiously through the trees. The ground wasn’t quite as damp and mushy this far inland; but the trees still created a thick, shadowy darkness, even this close to ten in the morning. The shack sat in a round clearing; he still couldn’t believe he never noticed it before. But there it sat, raggedy and worn from time, like his grandfather’s ancient, flaky skin. He gave Candy a look, and she removed her revolver.
5
The door was peeled gray paint, with brown, rotted oak showing through. It was ajar; so Jack pushed it open with the barrel of his AR.
The door opened slowly with a long and drawn out CREEEAK. Jack nearly puked. The smell came out and gushed up his nostrils. There sat a man. Sitting there in a pile of bones, and old newspaper cut outs. Every inch of the wall was covered in newspaper headlines.
THE DEAD ARE RISING
BOARD UP YOUR HOMES STAY INSIDE
DON’T GET CLOSE TO BITE VICTIMS, EVEN IF IT’S YOUR FAMILY
The man sat cross legged on the floor, muttering to himself; then his head turned up and looked Jack dead in the eye. “Have you come to take me away?”
His eyes were black and void of anything other than pitch blackness.
“What’s the smell, fella?” Candy asked. She’d aimed her cross hairs right on his forehead.
“Jesus said to love all the children. But, you know… those preachers never could get inside my head. I never listened.” the man said.
A small black wood oven sat in a corner, the chimney pipe jutting out from the top. Beside it sat a red and white cooler with blood splattered on the white sections.
“What am I going to find inside the cooler?” Jack asked, already assuming the answer.
A wide smile crossed the man's face. “Jesus loves all the children… all the children of the world… red and yellow, black and white… Jesus loves all the fucking children!” He rolled onto his back screaming wildly.
“Jesus loves them! I sent them home!”
“Watch him.” Jack said.
Candy moved stealthily up to him, and gripped his collar, pressing her revolver firmly against his temple. “If what I thinks in that cooler, buddy, it aint god that’s gonna send your brains flying.” She said.
Jack moved over to the cooler, and with his rifle’s barrel, tipped the top open. “Jesus!” Jack put his hand against his mouth like he might vomit.
Inside were four little heads. Each one had a bloody engraving, from left to right, reading: Red, Yellow, Black, White.
Candy looked Jack in the eye. Then looked down at the man. “You sick son a bitch!” She kicked him over, and pummeled him with harsh rib kicks. He screamed in something that sounded like a preacher speaking tongues. Then her gun rose, and screamed a shot through his temple. The blood splattered over the newspapers, and splashed against the exposed wood.
Jack kicked over the wood stove. “Let it burn. Let it all burn. Only the ashes and our memories will ever know this existed.”
6
It was an eerie feeling sitting in that passenger seat, peering out, and seeing the smoke rise from the woods behind; and all around, the empty roads,
buildings, and homes mocked Jack's humanity; and challenged his decency and sanity. This couldn’t be all that was left of the world he once loved. All that remained of humanity’s greatness. He refused to believe that.
There wasn’t a lot of zombies roaming, only a few here and there. Warm wind blew his black hair back through the lowered window; and Andrew played with the radio.
"You really expect to hear something other than static?” Jack asked.
“You never know. May be someone is broadcasting.” He said.
Then the crackle cut off, and in its place a voice came through the speakers.
“Shit! What’d I tell you?”
A man spoke in a deep and powerful voice. “My name is Duras—leader of the Godly Knights! If you here this message, know that God almighty has sent this judgment onto us. Know that the Godly Knights now patrol in His holy name. We will bring His justice to these streets. Anyone still breathing must join us. If you oppose, accept your demise!”
The voice continued over and over, in a prerecorded anthem.
“Godly Knights? Jesus fucking Christ. I wonder how many men they have recruited.” Jack said.
Candy spoke up from the back, “More than we have, that’s for sure.”
The smell of rotting plant life slowly faded into the distance as the Humvee rolled onto a stretch of road. Country homes, some with huge man made ponds existed on either side of the two lane path. Over grown grass in each yard reached towards the sky as if to beg for the former prestige each home once boasted. No doubt, only a short time ago, spoiled rich children ran and jumped into those pond size swimming pools.
As the homes disappeared into a blur of green; just ahead of them, they saw large wooden polls dug into the earth. Jody let out an astonished whistle; and Andrew slowed the vehicle enough so they could all get a good view. Dead bodies dangled from their necks; and signs hung from the sun cooked bodies.
“Things have gotten a lot worse since last time.” Jack said.
“We’ve been in the swamps for months now. Maybe we should've stayed." Andrew said.
Jody was craning his fat neck over Jack's seat to get a better view. His hot breath smelled like swamp water and rotten beef.
“We have toothpaste back at camp, you know?” Jack said.
He paid his comment zero attention. “Maybe we should have stayed. Taken our chances with eating gator meat.” Jody said, speaking a mouth full of fumes into the side if Jack's face.
“Its high time I bring back some law and order to this hell hole.” Candy said.
“Not sure that’s gonna happen babe. This shit looks crazy.” Jody replied.
“Jefferson once wrote ‘Our greatest happiness does not depend on the condition of life in which chance has placed us, but is always the result of a good conscience’” Jack said.
Andrew shot him a fast look, with a slight grin. “Don’t think Jefferson ever predicted humans would face this.”
“John Quincy Adams once wrote, ‘Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish’” Jack suggested. He was already feeling a little better. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe. The truth was that he was scared and confused. But he'd never let his family see that. He wanted to be the leader. He wanted to stay strong for them. Quoting the founding fathers had always been a coping technique he'd used in the past.
Jack jumped forward from a sudden jolt against the back of his seat. “Always the optimist cousin. Not even a string of noosed dead men can damper your hope.” Candy said from behind.
She was wrong.
7
The day was warming as overgrown grass reached high towards the sky in each yard they saw pass by. They'd gotten close to town, to what used to be civilization—suburbs filled with matching houses, now an ancient conformity, something that once repelled Jack, but now only lingered in a sad and nostalgic memory of what used to be. The sun was reaching high noon, and the smell of death lingered in the air. Thick humidity weighed heavy on the hot wind gushing on Jack's face; and dead people roamed sporadically through the country neighborhoods.
“We’ll reach the city limits soon.” Andrew said. His face seemed battered with the pain of humanity's death, yet a crooked smile emerged in spite of the pain boiling just underneath. That was, as they say, his way.
The outermost sections of the city were deserted; but the high walls of a compound cast dark shadows as the sun beamed down. “We should hide the Humvee somewhere around here, and make our way on foot towards the city walls. We need to observe, and not be seen.” Jack said.
The ground crunched underneath their boots while they darted from building to building, always staying in the shadows. It was midday, and the humidity was sickening, causing gobs of sweat to run down their legs, arms, chest, neck, and face. They maintained a steady, and close distance directly behind Jack, Andrew and Jody in the middle, and Candy taking the rear position. The old, boarded, and broken stores became numerous—skeletons of the old order of things, now only dusty remnants and shattered glass.
Jack motioned for them to enter a small building. He carefully stepped through the broken glass pane doors, glass crackling under his boots. He let out a whistle, just in case the zombies had chosen the store as a resting place.
No sounds, no movements.
Jack took a position near a shattered window, removed his binoculars, and aimed his view towards a twenty-foot-high metal link fence that stood about over five hundred yards away. It was built in the form of a large square, securing what used to be a sprawling downtown into a prison like environment. Razor wire round up on both top and bottom keeping any would be escapees from leaving, and kept any unwelcomed guest from entering—living or dead.
A cat walk surrounded the top of the fence line, connecting to guard towers on all four corners. Guards moved around leisurely, clearly not worried about trouble coming their way. Jack doubted they’d seen much resistance since their annexation of the old town.
In the middle, jutting high into the sky, was a Catholic cathedral. Its design was gothic, and it towered high, with windows that looked out in every direction. It had multiple towers with large domes, like an onion dome from Russia, with dark grays and black shadowy hues.
“I remember when they built that gaudy monstrosity.” Jack spoke softly.
“I read it cost em ninety million.” Candy said crouching beside him.
“Lets get out of here.” Jack signaled for their return to the Humvee. Following the same path they'd taken, he led them back towards the vehicle. He needed to discuss a plan of action, a way of helping anyone trapped inside that prison city escape. He had to believe that good still existed in the world. He not only had to believe it; he had to prove it to himself. His species simply could not just give itself up to such a dreadful existence.
Then he saw it. Surrounding the Humvee, sniffing and jerking about, was close to fifty zombies. Their clothing tattered, their skin dry and peeling, faces rotted, and eyes dark with a white glare in the pupils, like bright shining, lifeless bulbs.
Then the guns shots rang out from behind them. Patrol guards had spotted them.
He turned to see a gang of armed men moving towards his direction; and the gun fire earned the attention of the horde; they moved towards them in their slow steady fashion. Jack's heart beat sped up, and his mind searched for a solution. “I’ll draw their fire! Run and hide until it’s safe to come out!”
“Are you crazy?! No! We can’t leave you!” Candy said.
“No time!” He said, turning, pushing his glassed back against his face, and ran with passion under his feet. He didn’t look back. Bullets zipped past his head, and shattered glass windows, and peppered building walls. His breath rushed in and out in fast gasps. The thud of his pulse pounded in his temples. He turned a corner and fired shots to make sure they were coming for him, and not his cousins. He ran with long strides, unsure of where his feet would take him. The sky above shined blue
and bright, the sun pouring down its merciless heat. His feet kicked up dust and dirt, filling his mouth with a nasty dryness.
The gun fire ceased. Where were they? They were surrounding him, no doubt. Attempting to snare him. He turned another corner, and saw a gunman. He fired, but missed. He ran in the opposite direction, hoping to reach the next building.
The moment he turned, the butt of a rifle turned his world black.
8
In the darkness of Jack's unconscious mind, he dreamt for a moment. He was back in college; and professor Bashir’s thin arms moved about; and his thin waist twisted as he passionately told the story of Operation Eiche. “Picture a team of German commandos storming Hotel Campo on twelve aerial gliders. Can you imagine! The king of Italy had Mussolini held; and they believed he was secure in that mountainous retreat. But they didn’t expect the daring and bold SS officer Otto Skorzeny and his band of commandos. Their historical and silent descent found the guards asleep on their feet and they easily over powered them—saving Mussolini.”
“But, they eventually killed Mussolini, right?” Jack blurted. He always sat upfront; a teacher’s pet through and through. His glasses slid down his face, and he pushed them back in place.
“Not for months later! After the rescue, Mussolini declared ‘I knew my friend Adolf Hitler would not leave me in the lurch!’”
Jack loved history. It was his life force. The study of civilizations gone and dead. The study of his own civilization's development. He loved it all. History allowed him to feel connected to the past. He didn't have many friends; the past helped to keep the loneliness at bay. Life could be worse he always thought; he could have been born in the bronze age.
Jack awoke with blurry vision, his back rigid in a chair. His glasses were missing. The vision of a smiling Mussolini gave way to the three men surrounding him. A tall man, with a tattered shirt, and jeans that were too tight for his fat legs. Another man, short and stubby, with a long beard, chattered nervously, “Back to the compound. That’s where we should take him. I can hear em outside.”
The third man, black and heavy set, with a dark beard with gray accents mocked, “Always afraid of the dead! Why did we ever let you come with us? I’m not going back till I find all his friends. The boss wants information. And I’m gonna get it for him!”
Jack's hands were tied behind him, and his ankles were tied to chair legs. Around him he saw what appeared to be a rundown bar. His gun and his glasses were resting on it. Broken bottles everywhere, and wine cabinets leaning against an exit door, holding them shut. He heard growls and dead hands banging and scratching on the walls.
“All you care about is sucking up to Duras! You think he will ever make a big lipped nigger like you one of his right hand men?” The two men stared at each other. Their eyes burned with anger and wild ferocity.
Jack cleared his throat, “Ahem.”
They both turned in unison and their rage left their eyes and penetrated Jack's soul. Their teeth meshed together and spit dripped from their mouths like hungry Hyenas ready to pounce their pry. The gray bearded black man connected his thick fist with Jack's right temple. For a moment, his world blinked out of existence, only to return quickly and with blinding pain.
“Who are you? Where are your friends?” The gray bearded black man asked.
“Go to hell.” Jack said.
He punched Jack in the solorplex and again on his temple. A harsh cough exploded from Jack. He gasped for air, and saw speckles of white, black, and blue dots.
“Are you the swamp rats we’ve seen before? Or, are you with the tree folk? Answer me!” he said and slapped Jack hard across the face.
Sweat from Jack's brow dripped into his eye; and the vision of the man standing before him came and went like a fast cut on a movie reel.
Finally, Jack caught my breathe, steadied his head, and stared up at him, “Answer me this: Are you the Godly Knights? Are you the ones I watched massacre so many women and children in the early days of this new hell?” He asked
The scratches were getting louder and the doors creaked and begged to fall open. The short stubby man stared out the corner of a boarded window, “Oh man. They gonna come in here!”
Gray beard ignored the man and glared down at Jack. “That’s right boy! We are here to answer His will.” He said.
“His will is to slaughter innocents? To rape defenseless women? No! I question with boldness the existence of your god! I will fight you with my dying breath!” He said.
“They’re breaking through!”
Loud gun shots sounded from outside the building as the doors caved in. Jack was knocked backwards. The screams of the men sounded off while the zombies ripped their flesh apart. Jack struggled to scoot away. He saw them coming, jerking their way towards him.
One walked right up to him and dove his way. He could smell dank breath and see jagged teeth as an arrow penetrated the grimy head and covered Jack's face with brain matter. He saw his captors being eating on the floor; but he saw other men and women. People he didn’t recognize. They brandished guns, swords, and bows—like a modern medieval team of bandits.
Then when he saw Candy’s red hair, Andrew’s thin shoulders, and Jody’s bulky frame. Their guns were drawn, destroying any dead creature that came near him. In a matter of moments, his captors were killed, the zombies met the final death, and Candy cut him free from the ropes.
A man stood above him, "Now you owe us. My name is Okona.” Jack reached out and shook his hand.
“Okona and his boys saved us in return for our help saving his people.” Candy said.
“Beats dying, I suppose. What are the details?” Jack said as they helped him to his feet and gave him his glasses and rifle.
“They’re being held inside the fortress. They call it The City of God. But, we’ve got people on the inside. And, now, with your help, we have the numbers.”
“When do we go to work?” Jack asked. He was starting to think he was right; not everyone was bad after all. Here was a band of decent people, at least that's the vibe he got from them.
“We have a base of operations not far from here. We can hold up there until tonight. That’s when we strike. We have to get out of here now though. They’ll see us soon enough if we don’t hurry.” Okona's face was brazen; and his eyes bore the resemblance of a troubled solider.
Jack and his cousins followed Okona out of the bar, through the streets, and into a dense wilderness.
9
Walking into their camp was surreal. A barricade of cypress trees jolted from earth at a sharp angle, meant to stab any walkers that happened to wonder close. The barricade’s two ends connected to a metal gate, something that looked as though it was torn from a castle. It was protected on all sides by thick oak and pine trees.
Inside, the marvels continued. A network of tree houses were built high in the oak. Hemp ropes created bridges with planks. It was as though Jack had transported to some other time in history. He felt like he'd stepped in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. The sun shined through the tree tops and brightened the faces of all those around him. It seemed they’d lived there forever.
Up top, within the labyrinth of connected rope, and unstable swinging bridges, rich, saturated greens, deep crimson, and golden ambers radiated all about, like a heavenly glow; and a warm breeze rustled the leafy canopy.
Okona's comrades names were Tasha, Chris, and Andre. They were kind, offering food. They had rugged, yet compassionate faces. Tasha was a healthy young woman of twenty. Her long blonde hair fell down her petite and athletic body. Chris and Andre were African American, and brothers.
As Jack waited for nightfall he talked with them all. Sitting high above the ground on an open plat form, peering out into the green thickness of it all, he listened to Okona regal those around with his story. Jody, rude as ever, had prodded them for personal information. They didn't seem to mind.
“I had a wife. My wife was beautiful and intelligent. She painted marvelous la
ndscape portraits.” Okona said.
Jack stared up and noticed a portrait of something that looked very much like the network of tree houses.
“Like that one?” Jack asked.
“Indeed Jack. She painted that, and I felt duty bound to honor her life by building it.”
“How did she die?” Jody asked
“Jesus Jody! I’m sorry. He isn’t the brightest bulb left on the planet.” Candy said.
“It’s OK. My wife was the kind of person that respected honesty, in both our words and thoughts. She was a brunette made of pure, artistic energy. She never judged, and always wanted to help people—a serious humanitarian that never shied from fear or danger.” Okona looked down for a moment, and stared, his eyes burning with painful memory. “That’s what killed her. Her love of humanity and desire to help those in need. When everything went bad. When the emergency services stopped responding and people died in large numbers, against my pleas and at the sight of one of the neighborhood kids running from what used to be his mother; she marched out of the house one day carrying a hammer.”
“The boy’s mother turned?” Jack asked.
“Oh yes. What used to be a house wife and loving mom, a sweet woman by the name of Casandra was replaced by a snarling creature attempting to eat her own son. My wife didn’t make it to him in time. The boy’s flesh was ripped from his bones and his small ears torn off by his mother’s teeth. My wife had no idea how fast people could turn once bitten. She was able to bash the brains out of the horrid undead woman; but by the time she turned around, the boy was on her, gnawing into her arm.
“She never had the chance to turn. Moments later a horde moved through, devouring anyone in their path, including…” His words trailed off, he sniffed, and wiped a single tear from his eye. “I swore from that moment on, I’d make it up to her. Make up for not running out there with her. Maybe I could have stopped it.”
No one said anything for a solid five minutes. Everyone stared in their own direction, looking inward, remembering the dead and fallen and wishing for the Old World, the days that were dead forever. Jack broke the silence.
“Can you tell me more about this Duras guy? What do you know about him?”
“A great deal actually. We were business rivals before the Fever came. His real name is Tommy Morrow. He's strong willed and always eager for a good fight. Never underestimate him.”
If Jack knew how true those words were, maybe he wouldn't have said what he said next. “We can take him. Don't worry, we're the good guys.”
“May be so.” Okona said. “But good and bad is connected by a thin gray line of uncertainty. In the New World that is truer than ever.”
10
The conversation eventually went to less serious topics, and Jack stopped listening to the rest of the stories told. He watched as the sun moved across the sky. He pondered the current context. Where were they going? Did any of this matter? With so much death, was true heroism still possible? He forced himself to believe, to hold on to the philosophy he'd always loved—humanism and volunteerism. Okona might be right about morality's thin gray line. But sometimes good and bad are black and white. Rape and murder are easy enough to see as bad. At least that's how Jack saw things. He pushed his glasses back against his face as he started to wonder if he was being too naïve; was he too eager to see the world through the old ways?
The night was hot and humid and his glasses slid down his face again. He pushed them back into place.
He couldn't give up. Not yet. If hope was lost, then he didn't think he could keep going.
The sun had disappeared, leaving him in darkness. The bright colors turned to threatening shadow; the others had grown silent. The time arrived for him to follow his new friends into that fierce fortress; to save people he'd never known.
The night's darkness swallowed them as they plodded through the trees. Okona led from the front, Jack in the middle, and Candy in front, Jody behind—Tasha, Chris, and Andre worked the rear. They moved through the trees like ghosts in fog, softly, swiftly, and always sure to keep voices low, cause who knew where the undead may roam.
All around, the crack and pop of broken sticks warned of inevitable death; and the smell of rotting, walking corpses lingered with every step. The lights of the City of God came into view, and Okona motioned for them to follow ever so closely; as he led a path up to the gloomy metal fence line.
From above, a knotted rope fell. The rope was made of black nylon, and was easy to climb. At the top, they were led by another man, tall in stature, with long black hair and a dark mustache.
They now stood on a scaffold. Torches burned at least one hundred feet in either direction, marking the points where other guards stood watch. The man with the mustache guided the way down a ladder attached to the interior fence. It was loose, but not so loose to cause anyone to fall.
Then the man led them through what used to be a scrawling downtown avenue, then down a shadowy alley. No one was in sight. The streets empty and bare, only a few candle lit windows here and there in what once had been high dollar town homes.
In the alley, the mood changed. The stench of deceased flesh suddenly filled the air. In the obscure stillness, Jack saw a long row of corpses crudely crucified, with wood plank engravings above each head: THE FAITHLESS ROT AND HANG FOR ALL TO SEE.
The former day’s sun had cooked the flesh and made it ripe. Jack held his hand over his nose and mouth; hoping to protect himself from the reek. A door appeared ahead, just beyond Okona and his guide. Two guards stood watch.
“Wait here.” Said Okona.
Jack strained his ears to hear. “We had an agreement. You can’t back out now.” Then the sounds of anger and men grappling. Jack moved closer, motioning for Candy and Jody to get ready to bail. Okona had slit one of the guard’s throat, but the other fought with fervor. A gun shot went off, and the man fell.
“No! Don’t do that! Okona, no!” said Okona's accomplice, but it was too late. He kicked the door in, and an alarm sounded.
Jack ran to the commotion. He found Okona kneeling beside the people he came to help. They were dead though, recently turned. They were chained and reaching up to Okona.
“Damn them!”
Tasha came to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “We couldn't save them. We did our best. Okona, we have to go.”
Chris and Andre were shouting for them to hurry up. Candy, Jody, and Andrew were beside them, motioning as well, their guns at the ready.
Okona and Tasha walked out of the room. The man that had guided them was gone. He'd disappeared into the shadows. Jack followed Okona and Tasha. The others were already running back along the path they'd taken to get to the alley. Jack watched them reach the street, and run across, just avoiding the seeking lights that were now dashing across the city.
At that moment gun fire rang out in all directions. Gas canisters bounced in the streets, and the sounds of jack booted thugs marched closer and closer. Jack's eyes burned and watered. His breath came in short gasps. He saw what he thought might be Candy, but she and the others were now watery blurs. He thought he saw them moving to the wall. He could barely breath. He could only hope the others made it back over the fence. That was his last thought right before he felt the linebacker sized man tackle him, and turn his vision into darkness with one fast punch.
11
He awoke with a headache. It felt like wild African drums sticks using his temples as drums. His vision was blurry for a moment, then slowly, the room came into view. Standing in front of a large, burning fire, dressed in a steel gray and black was s a tall man, with broad, strong shoulders. A long mane of braided brunette hair ran down in his back. The man's right arm twisted behind him, and the back of his fist pressed against his lower back. His chest stood out proudly. He spoke without looking at Jack, and stared upwards.
“My name is Duras.” His chin was chiseled to the bone, pointing down with a powerful slant. All around, the walls were shadowy gray, with hints of c
old blue hues here and there. “You know. I don’t run into many people these days that still carry around a wallet and identification.”
He held a plastic card in front of Jack's face. “Jack Teach…” He flung the ID into the fire.
“I used to believe our species would live amongst the stars.” The fire shadows danced on his face as he spoke. “My whole life was spent believing that. I dreamed we’d make it to space. My heroes consisted of the men and women of the star ship Enterprise.”
He turned and glared at Jack with dark, wide eyes. “I hated religion. You know? But what good did all of that fantasy get me? Instead of a future filled with joy and wonder, I watched helplessly as my wife and children were ripped apart by undead monsters.” He stared towards the floor. “Now that… I did not anticipate. Even though I've read just about every zombie comic ever illustrated.”
Jack's head still throbbed. His breath came in short gasps. He tried to wiggle against the ropes. He craned his neck to the right, then to the left; and then forced his eyes stare upon Duras. “So, instead of accepting the deaths, and moving on, you chose to turn to pure evil as a counter to the pain?” Jack asked.
Duras turned away. His gaze went down to the red embers. For a moment, he said nothing… then he took a deep breath and blew it out, breathed in once more, and said, “Don’t over philosophize this. It’s about survival now. And, the best way to survive is by enforcing a religion. If people try to stop you, you kill them in the name of God. And the people that listen to you, are willing to martyr themselves without question.”
“While you hide in here reaping the awards? While you stand around betraying your own humanity!” Jack said.
“Would you agree it beats living on the outside?” he said
“I’d rather be dead then become like you!”
Duras broke into a smile. “Oh my! I like you! We are going to have a grand time!”
“I don’t plan on being here that long. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Yes. I like you. You remind me of the gallant Captain Picard. Always shouting his self-righteous babble.”
“Enough! What do you want from me?”
“Fun, of course! Rhino! Ice Man! Come!” Two large brutes barged into the room. “Take him to the Pitts!”
“Yes, sir! Come on you! To the Pitts!”
One of the men grabbed Jack's right arm, and the other grabbed the left, picking him up and holding him high in the air like a crowd surfer. “Let me go!”
From behind Jack, the deep cackling laughter of Duras echoed, his shadow flicking against the walls. “And sound the bells! Sound the bells! Let the celebration begin!” Duras shouted.
Loud bells jangled from every direction. Screams of malicious joy echoed from outside the walls. Jack was carried down long, dark corridors decorated with medieval architecture, and down a flight of winding stairs. He screamed, and dug his nails into the wall, but to no avail. He saw a large wooden door ahead, and another large brute turning a key. The door swung open, and they tossed him in. He slid down into a soup bowl metal pit. The bottom was a flat rectangle with iron bar doors on both ends. Above and all around he saw a coliseum, with rows upon rows of seats. Fire burned and flickered light from metal trash cans. It was pure medieval hell.
Jack watched in horror as hundreds of men, women, and children streamed from unseen entry points, gathering in the seats—their faces hidden in the fiery shadows. Profanities were screamed his way; and bits of rotten food, spit, and feces flung in his direction. The insane crowd erupted in a chorus, “Duras! Duras! Duras!” Large torches gleamed from high above, and directed its light onto a balcony high above, and there bathed in fire light piety was Duras holding a goblet and drinking merrily.
In his other hand he held a megaphone. “Quiet now! Quiet!” The room slowed to a low murmur, then absolute stillness. “We are all fortunate to have a God that allows such wonderful breaks for entertainment. It is one of the many blessings we all receive for being His faithful followers."
A few people shouted "Amen! Amen to that!"
Duras continued, "Today I bring you a special guest. His name is Jack Teach and he denies that our God exists!” A bellowing of boos, and shouts for his death cried out from the enraged crowd. Duras raised his hand to silence the mob. “But not to worry. There is a reason God gave us the walking dead. They are here to consume the flesh of nonbelievers like dear Mr. Teach here.” Duras then focused his attention to Jack. “Jack my boy! You have only one chance now. It’s time for you to enter the Trail of the Damned!”
The crowd erupted at his proclamation, banging their feet and pounding their fists against the floor and walls, causing the entire room to shake violently.
“Death for Jack! Death for Jack! Death for Jack!” they screamed.
“Jack! May God have mercy on your flesh!” Duras said as he sat down on a dark shadowy throne.
A slow creak sounded behind Jack. He turned to see the bars rising, slowly, inch by inch. Beyond the bars he saw the glowing eyes of the dead moving towards him. Their growls echoed against the concrete, and their wicked shadows danced on the tunnel walls. He turned and looked at the other gate. Still closed. But shadows moved just beyond the cold steele bars.
Above, he saw something lowering on a cable, eventually reaching his position. It was a short sword. Engravings on the blade read: For the Faithless, May He Forgive You.
Jack suddenly became aware of dark blood stains under his feet that covered every inch of the pit. How many other innocents had these disgusting barbarians fed to the hungry undead? Would he now become just a number in this sick game? Not today! Not tomorrow! Not ever!
He removed the blade from the cable, and marched around the pit, pointing the sword at the crowd. “I am Jack Teach—defender of peace, justice, and humanity!” The crow bellowed in disgust and launched small stones, and more spit and feces. One of the stones conked Jack in the temple. He saw stars as the bars continued to rise.
Jack collected himself and pointed the tip of the bland up at Duras, “Today I will show you the will of man cannot be defeated. Nothing can stop the will of mankind! Our species will rise again! Do you hear me, Duras? Do you hear me, Tommy! Witness for yourself, the stirrings of humanity’s rising!”
The gate clicked at the top, and time stood still around him. He raised the sword. The dead men wobbled out of the tunnel, snarling and growling, their skin hanging from their faces. Six disgusting, stench ridden pieces of flesh lurched for him. He charged with ferocity. The heat from the trash cans dashed across his face; and his eyes widened, exposing the white underneath the lids. He lobbed one of their heads off, and it tumbled to the ground, rolling away. Jagged teeth bit into his shirt, nearly cutting the skin. He pressed the hilt of the sword against its forehead, and used his foot to kick it away. He twisted quickly, and swung the blade with all his might, rendering another creature headless. He took a few steps back, and watched the other four moving for him. He circled around the dumb beasts, giving him an advantage by only allowing one of them close at a time. His blade finished each one off with precise, powerful cuts. Their blood drooled out of their decapitated heads, and their bodies lay motionless, pooling blood all around. Jack celebrated by jumping up and down, screaming obscenities at the crowd, and up at Duras.
He stopped in his tracks when he heard the creak of the other gate rising. He turned and watched with horror as four massive dead men moved out from the darkness—all of them well over seven feet tall, and clad in armor. He swallowed deeply, and the crowd screamed for his bloody demise. He braced myself for attack; but the whole structure suddenly shook as though a violent quake erupted. The jarring sounds of sirens blasted in every direction. He heard the screams of spectators,
“The gates! The front gates are breached!”
Then from within the crowd, jumped Okona, sliding down into the pit on his knees. He popped back onto his feet, and drew two swords from sheaths hanging from either hip. The fire glimmered in his face, and his
eyes burned with rage. He charged with a blood curdling scream, “Aquiel! Aquiel! For my Aquiel!” Jack saw the white of his teeth as he charged into the pack of seven foot hellions. He jumped high, twisted with fury, slicing off the fore arm of one of the giants; then landed low to the ground, and cut the leg off the beast, and planted his blade into its skull. Another dove down for him, but he met the zombie's momentum with the tip of his blood dripping blade, sending it through its skull. He let it fall to the floor, and gripped his remaining sword with both hands. He charged the third beast, jumped, and drove his foot into its chest, cutting a back flip and sending the zombie stumbling back. With his left hand, he removed a small revolver from a holster, and shot a hole through the fourth’s skull splattering brain matter against the curved walls of the pit; then charged the final creature, and screamed as he drove his blade through its face, “Die foul beast! Die in the name of Aquiel!” Jack watched in both horror and pride as he struck the beast over and over, chopping it to pieces all the while screaming his dead wife’s name.
“Come on! We’ve got to go!” Candy stood at the top edge of the pit. A rope was thrown down; and Okona followed Jack to the top. A large portion of the crowd had vanished through the exits. Jack looked up, and saw that Duras was gone.
Outside, back in the streets of the city sized compound, Jack stared out at a horrid scene. Okona and his people had blown the main gates; and the noise had attracted a massive horde of zombies. Thousands of dead faces clamored over the broken ruble like a sea of peeling, ripped flesh. People screamed from every direction. Guts were being ripped out of hundreds of people. The walking corpses ate through the crowds—men, women, children—all meeting the final death via the teeth of the mangled flesh eaters.
12
Jody ran, his big belly swaying back and force like a fleshy pendulum. His breathing came in rasps. Are they OK. Are my girls OK? Is all he could think while a crowd of zombies marched his way. Andrew stood beside him, firing rapidly in multiple directions. Jody’s head swam. This ain’t right. My girls. God my girls.
A sharp shiver shot up his spine and tears fell from his eyes. Can’t live in this. No girls. Nobody can survive now. Its ove—
“WATCH OUT! FUCK!”
Andrew’s warning came milliseconds too late. The zombie chewed into Jody’s shoulder, taking a massive chunk of flesh with it.
“JODY!”
Jody woke from his suicidal daze and jammed the butt of his rifle into the dead man’s face, sending it tumbling backwards like a drunk getting tossed by a bouncer. Let em be alive. Please god, let em be alive. My little angels.
He fired hot shots into the air, taking down the zombies. They came in from every direction. A sea of dead flesh. The smell of their skin filled the air with a dank and distinctive smell.
Like a rotting dog in a basement.
Jody’s mind, in a blink of a second, saw it all happening again. His dog dying in the basement. His daddy laughing and drinking beer while Jody cried in a corner. “I find rust on my tools again, it’ll be you crying down there. Understand me boy?”
Jody shook with fear and missed Momma. He’d watched her die from drinking. He watched her face go from a healthy thirty-five-year-old woman, to a foreshadowing image of the dead beasts that now roam planet earth.
“I ask you a question son—you best well damn answer!” His father stood up and slapped Jody with all his might. Jody slammed into the wall. A three-foot chain latched around Jody’s thick neck clanked and locked Jody in place, nice and unconsciousness. He’d been captive, forced to listen to the begging, starving howls of his best friend. Years later, those howls would haunt him. He’d wake in the middle of the night sweat pouring and tears streaming. Candy would hold him and coddle him. “Back to sleep baby. Its OK. Everything gonna be OK.” They never left though. The howls of Henry Rosco never left.
When he came to his father stood above him holding a shovel and a bag of lime. “Its done. Bury him.” He threw the lime and shovel down. Jody pulled himself up and watched his father walk down a short all way. He watched as is father never looked back as the bedroom door opened and then shut with a fatal click. It was the last time Jody saw his father alive.
The door leading down to the basement hung in front of him. He glowered at it, not waiting to touch the handle. Knowing what was waiting for him down below. His best buddy. His old pal Henry Rosko. He’d had Henry Rosko for three years, since he was a puppy of only eight weeks. Henry Rosko was the last gift Momma ever gave him. Jody felt some sense that it was Daddy’s fault that momma died. Some vague but powerful feeling deep inside him always said: he did something. Daddy done it to her. He knew it. He made her drink. He hurt her. He knows it. He heard Momma’s howls too. He didn’t starve her of food. He stole her humanity and decency one slap at a time. After one too many concussions, his Momma chose the booze over leaving Daddy. May because she knew he’d kill not only her, but Jody to. Her Little Fat Man.
Jody stepped onto the first step leading down to the basement. The floor board creaked under his weight. At only 10 years old, Jody already weighed a hefty one hundred eighty pounds. His short and fat legs walked down each step with care. He heard water dripping somewhere and saw nothing else. “Henry Rosco…” He choked up and started to cry. He saw him.
Before Henry Rosko was starved to death he was a mix of Rottie and Lab. He had a healthy and proud snout. His soft coat of fur (Jody washed him in a kiddy pool in the back yard least once a week). He had deep and shiny black fur save for Rottie speckles of brown on his face. His eyes were happy and glowing brown marbles.
On the basement floor, Henry Rosko’s ribs showed through tight skin. He lay on his side, his paws laid out like he been reaching for something. His legs shot out behind him, hard and stiff. Foam fumed out from the mouth, the lips curled back over the teeth. The brown eyes stared with hungry horror.
Outside he buried Henry Rosko and swore on the grave: Daddy dies tonight.
How? How you gonna do it? Can’t chop him up. They’d lock me up for good. Gotta be nice and silent. Gotta look like an accident. A dirty mist in his lungs. Something so quite it could kill a house of Navy Seals. Death. Death for Daddy. Justice for Henry Rosko. That’s all I want.
He heard the voice of his mother: My good Little Fat Man. Kill that son of a bitch!
Inside, Jody walked stealthily. His eyes gleamed a moderate glare. He walked softly to a hallway closet. The closet was blood red with a gold handle. Jody’s thick fingers wrapped around it and turned. It opened with a yawning creak. He paused…listening…heard…nothing. He stared at Daddy’s door and listening to the loud snores. He returned his eyes to the open closet, reaching in and pulled a metal string. The small closet was bathed with bright light. A gas hot water heater stood to his right, on a well-scrubbed wood floor. His father may have been an evil asshole, but he kept a clean ship. Directly in front and an arm’s length above him was a tool box. He lowered the box to the floor, making sure not to let the tools shuffle against each other. He set it on the floor and listened. He heard his father snoring from all the way down the hall, behind the bedroom’s closed door. Good, old man. Sleep. Sleep the final sleep. This is for Henry Rosko.
He opened the tool box. The metal snaps clicked. The snoring stopped. Jody froze. Sweat beading downs his face like a river of fear. His heart pounded against his chest. Veiny cords stood out on his neck. His face flushed red. His teeth clenched together, his lips rose above his teeth.
He heard what sounded like his father turning over in bed…then the snores returned. He let out of breath of relief, then thought: What if he’d caught me? Next times it’s me, boy, next time it’s you starving and howling in the dank and dark basement. Next time it’s YOU!—
for Henry Rosco. For Momma. He reached inside and brought out of a small screw driver. He looked up and saw the blinking light of a carbon monoxide detector. He stood up and reached high above his head. He yanked it down with a fast jerk. It wasn’t tied into the
house’s wiring. He popped open the battery slot and let the AAs fall softly into his sweaty palm. In fact, sweat drenched through his shirt and ran down every inch of his tubby, young body. He went down to one knee and found the metal gas line leading to the water heater. He used the screw driver to slowly grind a small hole. Daddy. Its time. Gas is gonna getcha Daddy! Gas is a comin!
He smelled the gas line’s deodorant leaking out, its way of telling Jody carbon monoxide was now leaking out in a steady stream of invisible death. Jody thought: smells like Victory. He stood up and stared down the hall. He listened. Daddy’s snores came in steady, loud and flapping snorts. Jody moved with mousy stealth. He went to the kitchen. Orange and white stripped wall paper adorned the walls. Handmade cabinets. Made by Daddy’s bitter and brittle hands. He took a few things loaded them into a plastic Walmart bag and softly stepped out the front door. He waiting outside, sitting beside Henry Rosko’s grave. He’d taken some beef jerky, a gallon of milk, a bag of Fritos, and a two liter Pepsi. He stared into the dark, sparkling night and waited for the morning dew.
The night sky swiped across a vast dark landscape. Stars winked from galaxies far far away. Jody chewed his beef jerky and pondered the situation. He wasn’t the brightest, but he knew there were things bigger than him in this world. He figured all the God stuff added up to something in the end. He hoped there was a hot burning pit waiting for his father (who at that very moment started breathing in the carbon monoxide and burping it out his nose in long and loud snores). The stars looked like big diamond studs to Jody. Something he wished he could have given his mother. A big diamond. Daddy never bought her any and he always hoped to give her one. He never did—
“Move YOUR FAT ASS!” Jody snapped back to the sight Andrew screaming in his face. A face covered with blood and bits of guts. “Move! It bit you! FUCK!” Jody snapped around and opened fire. Jody fought with the rage of a dying father. He saw Jack in the distance.
13
Jack saw Andrew and Jody running towards him; Jody was holding his shoulder.
“No!” Candy screamed and ran for her husband.
Jody fell to his knees; and held out his hand, ordering her to stop. His eyes were turning red, and his veins started to enlarge. Then a bullet ripped through his skull, spilling the contents on the pebble streets. On a roof, no so far off, stood Duras with a sniper rifle. A group of thirty undead broke off, and made their way towards Jack's position. Candy, Andrew, and Jack took cover behind a nearby car. Bullets pinged the vehicle as Jack took a peek around. He watched in horror as grimy dead hands pulled out chunks of Jody’s intestines; and nasty teeth ate into his neck, blood filling their insatiable mouths.
“Noooooo….” Candy murmured as her eyes dripped tears.
In front of Jack was dark shadow; and somewhere beyond that shadow was the wall where a rope still hung. Duras’s fire had left them alone, and now focused its attention on the massive horde engulfing his city. Jack didn’t see Okona. He didn’t know where he’d gone. He didn’t’ wait. He motioned to his cousins, and took off into the darkness. Candy fired well placed head shots into any dead man that came near, opening up their path.
Climbing up the rope, Jack's muscles burned. Sweat dripped from every inch of his body. The smell of rotting flesh, and the screams of countless dying people filled the night air. A bright, full moon shined above; and bright stars twinkled, like an ironic wink meant to convey their enjoyment of humanities’ extinction event. Jack helped his cousins over the wall, onto the plat form; and as they jumped to the other side, Jack took one final look at the scene. The undead filled every nook and cranny, every dark alley. Large groupings feasted on their victims. Their white hot, soulless eyes looked content as they chewed fresh meat, and grinded the warm entrails between crooked teeth.
Jack dropped to the ground, and left the city to die. He didn’t go back to the forest. He wanted out from here. Back to the swamps—back to safety and security. Back to his grandfather, and those wonderful kids. So he ran with his cousins by his side, back through the abandoned streets, by the bar he was held captive at, and finally to the Humvee.
Back on the Humvee, a long stretch of zombies littered the road. Their heads jolted and their eyes lingered on Jack, instinctively wanting the flesh on his bones. Their retched stench entered the open window. He grimaced, then squinted as the early morning sun rose. Would we all end up like them—thoughtless, brain starved animals? Is there any hope of really saving my species? At least the zombies kill for food. What can I say in defense of so many humans that choose to kill their fellow man for sport? There will always be men like Duras; the madness may never stop, not until we’re all dead, and then we’ll continue to enjoy the blood shed as dead men walking.
He laid his head against the head rest. Candy’s reflection sat in the passenger side mirror, staring longingly outward, probably thinking of Jody.
Jack thought, those kids have no father now. How will they take the news? Are they even there? Is this a dream. Let them be there. Alive.