Guns, Rations, Rigs and the Undead

by K. E. Radke

  “I need your gun.”

  “Give me a minute,” Lincoln tried to pull her legs apart as he watched The King make it halfway through his yard. She finally released him from her grasp and he turned to go but she bent over the table leaning on her elbows wiggling her ass from side to side. “I’ll just wait here for you to get back.”

  Lincoln’s eye darted from her ass to the dead king in his backyard almost to the secret entrance Sabrina used to enter his backyard this morning still wide open.

  Coming up behind her he whispered in her ear, “Remind me to lock the back gate.”

  Twenty Two

  T he rattling woke him up. He thought it was a dream but the shaking hinges slowly pulled him from sleep and every once in a while something pounded against the gate. Almost like it’s trying to tear straight through the wood. Bumping into Sabrina made him flinch, he forgot she was curled up next to him refusing to leave. Every time she opened her mouth he cringed at the sound of her voice.

  The smell of sex doused his nose as he gently turned onto his side pushing Sabrina off him. His hand landed on the gun sitting on the nightstand as he swept to his feet to put on some shorts lying on the floor. Clothes littered the carpet since Sabrina unofficially moved in forty-eight hours ago. She was determined to keep his penis occupied, treating his entire house like it’s a set for an amateur porn film maker.

  He actually had to hide from her in the shower, pretending to unclog the drain when she found him fully clothed. The constant sex was great, but he missed having an empty house, where he could actually think and have peace and quiet. All the blood was flowing somewhere else and he couldn’t think rationally—probably part of Sabrina’s plan to infiltrate his life for her own survival.

  It was a decent plan. Keep him sexually satisfied so he’d ignore her presence. He couldn’t complain about her too much because she helped with the cleaning and chickens. She actually loved all the chickens and named them Daisy, Donald, and Sparkles. But with nowhere else to go, she stayed right by his side every second of the day—except the five minutes he hid in the shower alone.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he made it to the window in his room that faced the backyard and he peered through the blinds seeing a shadow melt into the darkness behind his chicken coop.

  “Baby? What is it?” Sabrina whimpered wide awake because of the loud noise of something trying to plow through the gate.

  “I’m going to find out,” Lincoln muttered lowly narrowing his eyes at the coop. “Stay here. I swear to God if you lock me out of my own house I will personally put you on the curb when I get back in.”

  “Who would keep me warm at night if I locked you out?” she teased, sounding fiercer than she looked.

  “Fear can make people do crazy things,” he told her slipping out of the room and silently through the house. At the backdoor he took a deep breath listening to the door creaks being drowned out by the heavy banging on the gate. Keeping the door slightly ajar he stepped into the cold night slinking against the brick wall to the front gate.

  Over the pounding he could hear the unmistakable sound of teeth snapping together and low guttural hisses. Using some cinder blocks he peered over the wooden fence and found two girls on the other side. The motion detectors illuminated them and Lincoln could see the milky eyes peering up at him. A weight settle over his shoulders as he recognized the two little girls staring blankly up at him—two younger versions of Camille— trying to reach him with their small hands.

  Heaving himself off the cinder blocks he stuffed the gun down the front of his shorts and rubbed his face out of stressful habit. He wanted to see Camille and make sure she was gone—to see the evidence for himself. The two little girls banging against the rickety gate made it harder for him to rationalize his thoughts. Growling angrily he yelled in frustration into the silent night not caring if he woke anyone up or scared Sabrina.

  He took a moment to breathe and gazed up at the sky for a few seconds before heading back into his house and locking the back door behind him. On his way out the front door he grabbed two huge kitchen knives.

  As quietly as he could, he tiptoed around the front of the house and peeked down the side of it, where the two little girls were still clobbering the gate. Carefully, one step at a time, he moved when there was enough noise to cover the wet crunching grass beneath his feet, and snuck up behind them.

  He focused on his breathing while he stood silently for a few seconds before grabbing the tallest one first by placing a firm hand on her shoulder. The knife slid in quickly causing her body to go limp and fall awkwardly to the ground while the other little girl swiveled around. He wedged the second knife into the side of the second girl’s head and caught her as she fell to the ground. Gently placing her beside her sister, his hands shook as he let go.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered kneeling next to them hunched over. Lifting himself up he slowly sauntered back to his front door but stopped midway there. There were probably six or seven houses between him and Camille—he wondered how her daughters ended up at his gate?

  Safely back inside his house he locked the front door and checked on Sabrina. She was sitting up in bed gnawing on the edge of the covers when he peeked at her causing her to yelp. Instead of getting back in bed, he meandered into the backyard with a flashlight and his gun aimed at the chicken coop.

  “Camille?” Lincoln whispered. “Let me know if you’re there. I have a gun and I don’t want to shoot you by accident. Camille? Please talk to me.”

  He didn’t get an answer. Around the structure he found nothing but darkness. Feeling stupid for talking to himself he turned to go back inside.

  ☢

  Sabrina nibbled on his ear before sauntering out of his room completely nude. He turned over on his back taking up the entire bed, something he couldn’t do anymore and missed. High-pitched screaming shattered the quiet house and Sabrina was back in his room in a flash, covering her breasts and vagina, pale as a ghost.

  Lincoln shot out of bed with his Glock and stared at Sabrina wide eyed waiting for her to say something.

  “You can’t go out there like that!” Sabrina said gasping. She pulled on his arm before he made it out the door clearly staring at his crouch. Sex was not the answer right now.

  “What do you mean I can’t go out there like this?”

  “The girl,” Sabrina said shocked trying to put the words together. “There’s a little girl on the couch.”

  “A little girl?” Lincoln asked confused not looking at Sabrina. He scanned his room for shorts, pulling on the ones from his early morning escapade. Charging through the house he found no one on the couch but the back door was wide open. On a hunch he marched straight over to the chicken coop and circled the structure finding nothing. He lifted his gaze and found Sabrina in one of his shirts hugging herself in the doorway.

  “Are you sure you saw someone in the house?” he asked wondering if it was a figment of her imagination.

  “Does a vagina get wet?”

  Lincoln was used to the vulgar things that came out of her mouth. It was one of the few things he was attracted to. “And it was a little girl? Like a real girl or a cannibal girl?”

  “Do you like boobs?”

  Rolling his eyes he gruffly said, “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “She ran out of the house. Is that real enough for you?”

  “What did she look like?” Lincoln asked trying to hide his distress.

  “She scared the crap out of me and I ran like hell. I didn’t stick around to check her eye color,” Sabrina shouted annoyed that Lincoln seemed more concerned about the little girl than her.

  Lost in thought, Lincoln stood in the middle of his yard scanning it for hiding places. He treaded around the water and feed barrels searching for the little girl. Camille had three girls, but only two showed up last night. Did she lead them here because she couldn’t kill them herself? They couldn’t have disappeared, Camille would be looking for them e
verywhere. So she must know they ended up at Lincoln’s house. He wondered if the third sister came looking for them, and got in through the back. He could have sworn he locked the door last night.

  Finding no one in the yard Lincoln turned to face the front gate to his backyard. Usually breakfast was done first thing in the morning, but he’d lost his appetite because of the task he had to finish.

  Sabrina was waiting for him to join her inside where it was safe.

  “Can you bring me a shovel from the garage?” he asked her from across the yard. As soon as the question left his mouth, his heavy steps moved toward the gate.

  “What do you need a shovel for?”

  “To bury bodies. You want to help?”

  “Real bodies?! Like—dead bodies?!” Sabrina’s voice pitched higher than normal.

  “Would it be better if I was burying live bodies?” Lincoln asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Just for that you’re helping and take off that shirt. I don’t want dirt all over it.”

  She slowly slipped out of the shirt taking her time to tease him, making sure her boobs peeked out from the bottom. Flipping the shirt over her head, she twirled it around her finger and then dropped it on the floor.

  “Pick that up and put it back in my room. You’re helping whether you like—,” he stopped talking when she bent over to pick up the shirt tantalizingly slow. “I don’t have time for this.”

  He trudged the rest of the way to the gate and stood there silently staring at it, knowing what he’d find on the other side. As a courtesy he decided to go to Camille’s house. There’s one daughter left, so Camille must be taking care of her. If she was already gone, he had no idea what to do with her daughter’s bodies, but there were only two options, a grave or cremation.

  “Feed the chickens and collect the eggs please,” Lincoln turned his head to gaze at her peeking at him from the doorway. She started to put his shirt back on and he tsked. “Nope, you took it off. Go feed the chickens and don’t go barefoot there’s chicken shit everywhere.”

  Completely naked she gave him a seductive smile slipping on his work boots and clomping to the barrel with the chicken feed. The only thing keeping him focused on the task behind the gate was the rotting stench surrounding him.

  Not telling Sabrina where he was headed, he put on clean clothes and a little gel in his hair just in case Camille was still alive. Without phone service or the internet, the only way to find out was to contact her directly face to face. He left the scruff on his face alone because Sabrina liked it and he hoped it would get Camille’s attention.

  In front of her house he knocked and rang the doorbell several times before he gave up. Treading around the house to the fence, he took out his gun and trespassed into the backyard. An old swing set was in the back, along with a screened-in patio that prevented him from getting closer to the backdoor and peering through windows.

  Food wrappers and crumbs were evident through the screens. He tried the patio door but it was locked. If anyone’s home they aren’t answering the door. Giving up he treaded back home and dressed in old clothes covering as much skin as he could. In the garage he found some old gloves and put on a mask before sauntering down the street to Karen’s house. Ignoring the fly and maggot infested bodies on her lawn, he went straight into her home searching for sheets.

  Ten minutes later he left with some sheets and went back to the two tiny bodies at his house. Rolling the girls up one by one, he carefully moved them from his yard into Karen’s, laying them side by side.

  With the hose he soaked the ground surrounding the dead bodies. Then he found a flammable house cleaning liquid in Karen’s house and poured it carefully on the sheets covering the deceased. Footsteps caught his attention and he placed his hand over his gun as Wyatt asked from behind him, “What are you doing?” No curiosity in the words, he was just asking to start a conversation.

  “You have your gun?” Lincoln inquired evading the question.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Lighting a match Lincoln threw it on top of the Sheriff.

  “Who’s wrapped in the sheets?” Wyatt questioned softly looking at the tiny bodies.

  Lincoln took a minute before he answered, “Camille’s kids.”

  “They came to visit?”

  “Something led them to my gate. Not sure who or what it was.”

  “You okay?”

  “No.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Wyatt stood silently next to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder making Lincoln sigh, “If you’re going to make this awkward I suggest taking what you can from Karen’s house before the rest of these ass hole’s plunder it. They’re just waiting for us to leave in order to do it. Someone is watching and saw me take her sheets. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “That’s kinda rude isn’t it?”

  “If you don’t do it, someone else will.”

  Wyatt didn’t get two loads out before several neighbors showed up prowling around the front. Obviously not out for a stroll around the neighborhood, they passed in front of Karen’s house several times and waited for Lincoln to threaten their presence. Taking their chances when Lincoln didn’t terrorize them, they followed in Wyatt’s footsteps. Lincoln hoped the activity would draw Camille out of her house—after all, she did try to break into his house for supplies.

  Heavy loads were being carried out in laundry baskets and pillow cases. No one asked Lincoln who he was cremating, or offered to help. They were only interested in their own survival. Tension built as new people going into Karen’s house scrutinized what people were leaving with. The southern hospitality no longer applied in an emergency situation.

  Two men started yelling at each other and Lincoln threatened to turn the hose on them. It gave Lincoln the chance to peek at Camille’s house, but she never appeared to join in on the scavenging. Once all the food and essentials were gone, some formed a group to search for more—starting with neighbors they hadn’t seen in a while.

  Lincoln noted Terry and Nathan took control of the group leading everyone down the street. Wyatt followed them, shrugging his shoulders at Lincoln gesturing for him to come. Lincoln shook his head. He just wanted to burn the last body and go home to take a nap. Alone in his bed.

  Charred human flesh and smoke were seeping through the mask on his face. Several stray dogs appeared making Lincoln pull out his gun just in case they tried to attack. The pack growled and barked at him but never got any closer than ten feet before running off in the opposite direction.

  He placed the Glock 17 back in its holster. Wiping the sweat off his forehead he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and caught someone to his left pointing a gun at him.

  “Phoebe?” Lincoln said her name in a questioning tone. Cocking his head slightly to get a better look at her, he stood rigidly and kept very still so he wouldn’t startle her.

  She inhaled and aimed at Lincoln. On the exhale she clenched her jaw before pulling the trigger, a satisfying glare of revenge crossing her face. Lincoln shut his eyes tightly.

  Warm liquid sprayed his back and he heard something smack against the concrete over the crackling fire. Swiveling around he found another dead body that needed to be burned. He gazed up at her but her eyes were focused down the street. “L-Lincoln,” she desperately whispered unable to make her voice any louder. More ghouls were roving down the street toward them.

  Panic lines stressed her facial features before her eyes locked on his, and then she forced herself to look down the street again whispering, “Wyatt.”

  He realized the walking corpses were coming from the direction his neighbors went in to loot more homes—Wyatt being one of them. “Go back inside with Melanie. I’ll find Wyatt,” Lincoln said sternly. Putting out the fire, he watched Phoebe reach her house safely before he aimed at the ghoul closest to him.

  Two were down before he jogged up
the street. There was only one left staggering around coated in blood, he shot it and aimed at the next moving target but she was still alive. Lifting her arms in the air, he recognized Gwen as she slowed down from her sprint.

  “Are you bit?” he asked roughly.

  She was out of breath, but shook her head. Inspecting her clothes, Lincoln didn’t find any blood stains or chunks of skin missing. No sign that she was hurt or attacked. He gripped the Glock tightly not releasing her from the end of his barrel, “Where’s Wyatt?”

  “H-H-He. I don’t know—I-I don’t know,” she stuttered. Her face crumbled as the tears fell down her face and she started sobbing. Another moving body caught his attention so he signaled Gwen to go before it caught up to them.

  In rumpled, blood stained clothes it stumbled around. A knitting needle lodged in the gaunt, pale face, another in its chest, and a fork stuck in his hand. Shooting it in the head, Lincoln jogged down the street vigilantly whipping his head back and forth searching for Wyatt and ghouls hiding in between the houses.

  Faint screams caught Lincoln’s attention. Spinning around he waited for another sign to direct him. Pounding footsteps caught his attention on the right and Lincoln found another neighbor, Cora, frantically running across a yard from a house with the door wide open. He stood in the middle of the road and watched as she completely ignored the threat of a gun following her every move.

  Someone slowly filled the frame in the open doorway, the shadows yielding to the sunlight. Jeff’s round, pockmarked face jiggled as he stepped forward. The man looked like an evil gremlin snapping his heavy, shredded jowls at the sight of real food. Rotting skin hung off his face revealing black muscle and tissue. Lincoln narrowed his eyes trying to figure out what kept falling all around the man every time he budged. Maggots dropped to the ground from the open pockets of torn flesh on his face and body.

  Jeff was a huge man, the bulk of him fat, and his entire body was visible because he was wearing a Mawashi, the loin cloth sumo wrestlers don before a fight. Obvious chunks of him were missing all over his body, like someone tried to eat him, but there was just too much to finish him off. The holes were filled with squirming, white, fat worms living off the rotting body. Each step Jeff took shook every layer of fat he had, causing him to leave a trail of maggots in his wake. Dark, thick veins covered his torso fanning outward, thinning near his limbs.