The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing

by Archer, Angelique

  Mark gripped the arm rests tightly. “Alex, no make-up artist could make anything look that real,” he said fearfully, his words coming out shaky and uncertain.

  Alex patted his friend on the back. “Relax, it’s just part of the movie.”

  However, moments later, people in the front of the theater began rising from their seats, blood-curdling cries erupting from their mouths.

  Mark jumped from his chair and looked down at Alex. “Come on, something is wrong. We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Alex stared at the mayhem taking place before them and rose to his feet, his usually rosy cheeks paling. The woman who’d had her throat torn out was now facing the rest of the audience, with white eyes and a twisted expression, teeth bared. He froze. There was no way someone could have survived that. That meant that she had died and come back. And her zombified face was looking right at him.

  Mark grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, but the aisles were impossible to traverse as everyone flooded the exits, trying to escape the chaos.

  The boys had no choice, but to watch the horror playing out in the packed room.

  The first man was now biting those closest to him, usually going for the back of the neck or throat of his victims, holding them tightly against himself as he feasted on their flesh, killing them swiftly. The woman had climbed over the seat and was trying to get to the people in the middle and back sections of the theater. Every time they looked around, the number of people attacking others appeared to have doubled.

  What was worse was that the majority of theater occupants seemed so bent on getting out that they were trampling each other as they stumbled through the masses. Mark and Alex looked on in horror as faces were smashed in from running feet, bones breaking at odd angles, bodies twitching on the ground as they slowly died. Mark saw a couple of shambling figures crouch down and start wrenching the appendages of the incapacitated people on the floor free with their teeth and hands. He had to look away when they began shoving the limbs into their mouths, their rabid faces oddly at ease as they sucked, slurped, and mashed away.

  He realized that if they didn’t get out soon, they would be doomed to the same fate as those lying on the cold cement floor in front of them.

  “Alex, this way!” Mark had to yell at his friend to be heard over the roar of the action sequence in the movie and the screams of the petrified people. He pointed to the half wall that shielded the aisle to the exit from the rest of the theater. “We can climb over that and jump down. We’ll be a lot closer to the door from there!”

  Alex nodded, but didn’t take his eyes away from where he was staring.

  They pushed forward to the end of their aisle and flattened themselves against the half wall. Mark tried to reach the top, but the tips of his fingers were at least a foot too short from the crest of the wall.

  Alex finally looked at him, a strange expression on his face. “Here. I’ll hoist you up.”

  Mark’s brows furrowed. “What about you?” he yelled over the madness. Several people rushed past them, pushing one another in an effort to get to the exit. They ignored the two unmoving boys.

  Alex gave him a small smile. “I’ll be fine. You can pull me up afterwards. Dude, just hurry.” He linked his fingers together and crouched down. Mark put one foot onto the makeshift leverage.

  “Okay,” Alex said. “See you at the top.” With one quick thrust of his hands, Alex propelled Mark upwards. Mark was then able to grab the top of the wall and throw one of his legs over the edge.

  He quickly balanced himself on the narrow surface and looked back to find his friend. He wasn’t there. Mark’s eyes scanned the area desperately, his eyes settling on Alex just in time to see him shoved against the wall by what was once the woman from before, the one whose throat had been torn out.

  The zombie watched Alex intently for a few seconds, its head tilted sideways, lips pulled back in a cruel sneer. Once curly red hair was now frizzy and unkempt. Even above the raucous, Mark could hear its low, hungry growl. Its spine was easily visible through what remained of its ravaged throat; it was the only thing keeping its head attached to its body. The undead woman was one of the most frightening things Mark had ever seen.

  Mark screamed, outstretching his arm for Alex. Alex turned around and looked up at him, his eyes wide with unconcealed dread. He reached up and grabbed Mark’s hand.

  But it was too late.

  With gnarled, straining fingers, the zombie grabbed Alex by the back of his shirt and pulled him close, burying its teeth into the side of Alex’s face. The boy let out a bone-chilling scream and struggled against his attacker. Mark’s own screams were equally as loud as he watched the zombie tear at his best friend’s face.

  “Get out of here!” Alex cried out as he ripped free of the ghoul only to be swallowed by the crowd seconds later, his shredded face the last thing Mark saw as he disappeared into a sea of both infected and panicked people.

  Mark sat on his perch above the crowd and stared blankly ahead, unsure of what to do next. The thick knot of infected clogging the aisles had thinned as they moved on to other theater rooms, looking for new prey. He figured he could make it to the exit without much of a problem.

  Mark threw his other leg over the edge and hopped down, wincing as he felt the shock of the jump on his ankles when he landed.

  He could see the glowing red light of the exit sign as he edged closer, careful not to step on the mangled bodies littering the cold floor. As he neared the door, he was suddenly pushed roughly into a wall by a throng of bleeding, terrified people. He gasped, the breath knocked out of him.

  Out of nowhere, Mark caught sight of the profile of his best friend at the end of the group. He exhaled with relief when he saw his friend.

  “Alex, you made it!” he cried out, dodging the frightened passersby as he ran to him.

  He skidded to a stop a few feet away from Alex, his mouth agape in shock. Alex’s once white Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt was torn and soaked through with blood. His right arm was completely gone, the bones of his shoulder socket protruding from the lacerated shirt. When his friend turned to face him, Mark shrank back in horror. His lower lip hung on to his ravaged face by a thread, and his sandy blonde hair was now matted and stained deep crimson. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark was remotely reminded of the villainous Two-Face character from the Batman comics. His eyes had that same ghoulish glaze to them as those of the cannibalistic woman.

  “Alex,” he whispered, reaching out to his friend, wanting to help him.

  The zombie opened its mouth, a soft, raspy moan escaping its lips.

  Without thinking, Mark turned away from Alex and ran to the exit. He was numb to the panic from the crowd outside. He wiped away at the tears forming at his eyes as he jogged through the busy streets of Atlanta. He would find help. Alex just needed to go to the hospital. That was all. His best friend, his only true friend in the whole world, would be fine.

  Chapter 6:

  Carissa Bradley padded softly into the hallway, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. She feebly felt across the wall, trying to find a light switch. After a few steps, she could finally see a dim light in the kitchen faintly illuminating her path.

  Upon reaching the kitchen, Carissa could vaguely make out the glass cupboards storing cups of varying sizes. She opened one, wincing when she heard it squeak slightly. Reaching for a glass within her reach, she closed the cupboard and walked over to the refrigerator.

  A bright light flooded her face when she opened the door. Carissa leaned down and peered at the contents within the fridge. She welcomed the cool air that greeted her damp skin and pulled her hair into a high bun, yanking a hair tie off her wrist to secure her long locks.

  She was so sticky with sweat, but her body felt alive and delicious. She and the heaven-sent man from Scotland had been going at it for hours. Carissa wanted more, but first she needed to replenish her stores of energy. She reached into the fridge for an inviting carton of orange juice
. After being air-borne for several weeks and drinking sub-par orange juice in plastic cups on breaks during flights, Carissa, a Florida girl by birth, eagerly welcomed the sight of the Tropicana container.

  She licked her lips expectantly, closed the door, and poured herself a tall glass of the refreshing invigorant.

  A noise behind her made the hair on the back of her neck rise, but she didn’t know why. Carissa turned to the source of the sound, but couldn’t make out anything in the darkness.

  “Colin?” she whispered tentatively.

  When she didn’t hear an answer, she shrugged and resumed to polishing off her glass with renewed relish.

  She then re-opened the door to put the juice back.

  A disturbing visage appeared on the other side of the door, its head tilted slightly as it faced her, a hiss escaping its shredded lips. The lower half of the face was covered in black fluid, but Carissa couldn’t make out any of this in the shadows. Instead, she let out a yelp and dropped her glass.

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, not registering that something was off. She bent down to pick up the shards of glass, and in her hurry, snagged her fingers on a few pieces. Tiny droplets of blood fell to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry!” she repeated. “You must be Colin’s dad,” she continued without looking up, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She tenderly applied pressure to her injured fingers.

  At the scent of her blood, the figure moved without warning around the refrigerator door and knocked Carissa on her side. Shock and horror spread across her features as it approached her purposefully, its arms outstretched towards her, and its teeth bared in a feral snarl. She could now make out its grisly features and screamed for Colin.

  The monster lunged forward. Carissa held out her arms in front of her to protect her face.

  Powerful jaws closed around her forearm.

  She shrieked in agony as she tried to pull away, but the hands gripping her were too strong. Carissa wailed again as the zombie leaned away from her arm, a huge chunk of her forearm missing. Its teeth hovered above the fresh wound, fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist and elbow. Carissa thought her heart would stop when its eyes met hers, void of humanity, but filled with a terrifying, insatiable hunger. The slobbering and chewing as its canines shredded her tender flesh made her faint. It swallowed quickly and moved to her wrist, sinking its hideous teeth all the way through the veins and tendons until it hit bone. Blood spurted into the air, showering the zombie’s face. It lapped at it zealously.

  Light flooded the room. Colin appeared in the entrance way clothed only in his boxers.

  “Carissa, what the bloody hell?” He couldn’t see on the other side of the open refrigerator door.

  He froze when the creature that was once Jack MacConnell swiveled around to face him.

  “DAD!”

  No verbal response was given save for a garbled hiss as the zombie chewed. Colin stared in astonishment as he looked at the monster that was his father only a few hours before. His gaze shifted to Carissa, who was either dead or unconscious, her once gloriously glowing skin now dangerously pale, her limbs spread out on the linoleum floor. Both she and his father were surrounded in a growing puddle of Carissa’s blood.

  Swallowing the last fleshy morsel on Carissa’s forearm, a mess of exposed bones, cluttered veins, and shredded muscle, his father rose to his feet and started to move towards Colin, focused on a new source of food.

  Angry and fearful, Colin began to retreat. As they drifted further from the eerie glow of the kitchen, a blanket of chilling darkness enveloped them. Colin could scarcely make out the silhouette of his father’s approaching form, but even in the dark, there was no mistaking the supernatural quality of Jack’s milky white eyes.

  He continued to cautiously step backwards until his feet touched the mantle of the fireplace in the corner of the living room. Colin realized that he was trapped. He could either charge forward, or he could defend himself from where he stood. Either option risked becoming a tasty feast for his father.

  Regardless, he knew that he had to act quickly and get Carissa to a hospital. He desperately groped behind himself in the dark, his fingers searching for an object that would provide an iota of defense. With a breath of relief, his fingertips brushed across an old family heirloom.

  Hung ceremoniously from the wall was a sword, its finely sharpened edges glimmering luminously in the moonlight. He grasped the handle and swung it out in front of himself.

  “Dad, please don’t make me do this,” Colin pleaded.

  As he expected, he received no response. What was once his father had been replaced by this hideous, ravenous monster limping and dragging itself towards him. The closer it got, the faster its footsteps became. Colin raised the blade in a defensive stance.

  The zombie lurched forward, jaws open wide, and a menacing, predatory snarl escaped its throat. It ran right onto the blade.

  Colin gasped and held his breath, hoping to see whatever supernatural force possessing his father disappear from his eyes. The creature looked down at its torso for a brief moment and then back at Colin with frenzied hunger.

  It slithered along the blade, seemingly unfazed that the tip of a sword was buried in its stomach, and deliberately began snaking its way closer to him. In that moment, Colin knew he would never forget the horrific sounds coming from his father’s skin and organs as they were sliced apart.

  Colin kicked out with his leg, shoving the body off the blade. The zombie landed a few feet away, crumpling into a bloody heap on the soft carpet.

  At first, he thought he had killed it. He stood there, frozen in the darkness, waiting.

  As it began to twitch and writhe along the floor towards him, Colin felt a crippling wave of fear and helplessness wash over him. He wondered if this cursed being was invincible, if any attempt to destroy it would be in vain. His gaze shifted to the kitchen, and he knew that if he didn’t get Carissa to a hospital, she would die where she lay, if she wasn’t dead already.

  He shook his head determinedly. She wasn’t going to die, not on his watch.

  He rushed forward past the hideous monster on the floor and ran to the kitchen. Carissa lay on her back, her mangled arm extended. The shirt she wore was soaked in red, and the side of her face was slick from lying in a pool of her own blood. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the front door, grabbing Jack’s car keys on the way out.

  When he turned around to close the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of what was left of his father rounding the corner of the kitchen, dragging its feet through the puddle of Carissa’s blood on the floor. It reached out to him with hands encrusted in bits of flesh and moaned pitifully, its vacant eyes almost sad as Colin and Carissa fled from the house.

  Colin felt his stomach turn, and he shook his head viciously to try and erase the ghastly image from his memory. He pulled the door shut and jogged to the waiting Toyota Camry in the driveway, Carissa wrapped firmly in his embrace. He unlocked the doors and opened the back seat, tucking her in gently. Within seconds, he was in the driver’s seat, sword beside him, hurriedly pressing the key into the ignition.

  A crash from the right made him pause momentarily. He looked up in time to see Jack tumbling out the front window. Sharp broken glass tore at the zombie’s flesh as it determinedly pulled itself over the edge of the windowsill. It snarled at Colin and swiped the air in his direction.

  Colin shifted the car into reverse and onto the quiet street. By the time the zombie reached the road, Colin was several blocks away. It turned and began a steady march towards the slowly awakening neighborhood, the early morning sun warm and inviting, yielding a false sense of security from what was to come.

  ***

  “Haven, I’m really worried about you guys. I don’t like what I’ve been seeing on the news,” Houston said into the phone as he finished signing the paperwork for his first sales that morning. He undid the tie around his neck and tossed it on his desk, his feat
ures stressed.

  Haven stretched sleepily and walked into the kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the windows as she pulled the white and red checkered curtains aside. She lifted the glass dome from her grandmother’s cake stand that housed several of the pumpkin cupcakes she and Faith had prepared earlier.

  “We’re fine here,” she replied as she licked off the cream cheese frosting. “How are your parents?”

  Haven heard him audibly sigh. “They’re doing as well as they could be, I guess.”

  Houston was an only child. His parents lived in Massachusetts, and while he had lived most of his life near Springfield, he’d moved to South Carolina since graduating a few years before. He missed them. It was hard being away from both his parents and his girlfriend. While he had made friends here, he felt like he distanced himself from developing deeper friendships because he knew he wouldn’t be in Concord forever. Once Haven got the green light from the FBI, they would make a home wherever she was placed. That was the nice thing about a job in sales. He was good at what he did, and he could find work anywhere.

  “I talked to them last night. They said if it gets worse, they want me to meet them at their summer place in West Virginia.” His stomach twisted in knots. As their only son, they had begged him to leave then and rendezvous at their cabin. At this, he felt completely conflicted. On the one hand, knowing his elderly parents would have to travel alone to West Virginia deeply worried him. He didn’t know what was lurking on the roads right now. Just from what he’d seen on the news, the chaos looked widespread, and if anything, he would have preferred them to avoid traveling altogether and wait for him to pick them up in Massachusetts. Houston was a fast driver. He could make it there in less than ten hours if the roads were clear. Most likely they wouldn’t be, but he was a pro at finding hidden back roads.

  On the other hand, the idea of Haven in Georgia accompanied only by her grandmother and her sister shook him to his core. He loved his parents and appreciated everything they had done for him to ensure his success. Yet Haven was the woman he wanted to marry, the woman he wanted to build a little family with someday. If anything ever happened to her…